The Darkling Guard
by Ani101
Summary: Preseries, sequel to Dreaming True. John's investigations into the cause of Sam's vision back in Indiana cause him to put his youngest son into terrible danger-a secretive and ruthless organisation seems far too interested in such powers. Sam-17 Dean-21
1. Chapter 1

**Here's my new story, the sequel to _Dreaming Tru_e and it goes a little more AU but only slightly. You don't need to read that one to understand most of this but it may help...it's based on the idea of exactly how much John knew about Azazel's plans and when exactly he found out, also how someone like him might deal with it...it was never stated in the series! And also I thought-there could be other people apart from Azazel who would want to use people like Sam so here's the result of all those thought processes and I hope it works out! Sam is 17 and Dean 21 in this story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sam, Dean or anything to do with Supernatural, though I'm working on it!**

**And I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are my own...**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**The Darkling Guard**

Chapter 1:

"So what can you tell me about the blood sample?" John Winchester's rugged face was intent, almost haunted, set, as if he did not really want to know the answer. Facing him, the hunter-turned-scientist Dr Bates was peering over his microscope, narrow eyes squinted behind his crescent-moon shaped glasses. He now looked up, expression nervous. John Winchester was one of the best hunters in this part of the world, and he was not renowned for his evenness of temper.

"I have never seen anything like it," he confessed. "Whichever organism this blood stems from is...like nothing..."

"Get to the point. And cut the jargon, I just want to know what you know"

Dr Bates rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Clearly it is not the blood of a human," he said bluntly, and John flinched violently. The doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Is something wrong?"

John shook his head. "No, no. Please go on."

"Very well. That is, at first glance it almost seems like an ordinary blood sample, of a healthy human being. To civilian eyes it would be indistinguishable. But looking only slightly closer..." He shook his head. "If it wasn't impossible under the circumstances I would say that it was the blood of a demon. All the signs are there, even down to a faint sulphuric residue. But of course it is not possible-human and demon blood intermingled? It..." He laughed nervously. "It is insane."

John's face was a mask.

"Where did you find this, John?" Bates asked, leaning forwards. "Which creature..."

John shrugged, clearly trying hard for an illusion of nonchalance. "Came across it by accident."

"Because I hope you realise, whatever this thing is, it is dangerous. It's nothing we've ever seen before. And if there's even a possibility that there could be more of its kind..."

"What do you mean by dangerous? What would this thing be like?"

Bates looked uncertain. "It is hard to be sure, but...a human being with some enhanced abilities or powers I would guess, and with such infernal origins then there would be little hope of their choosing to use them for good. I would greatly like to learn more, John, and seeing this creature for myself would...

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." John stood up and strode to the door. "Thank you for your time."

"John, you could be putting us all at risk!" The scientist rose and followed him across the room, catching him just before he reached the door. "What do you have against showing me more?"

John turned back and his face was shadowed with an ominous mixture of guilt, determination and fear. "You really think this...creature...could be a threat us all?" he asked softly. His friend nodded.

"I have no doubt that it will become one, if it is still alive?"

John hesitated a fraction of a second-to Bates' watchful gaze he seemed to be fighting some intensive inner battle. Then he nodded.

"Very well," he said quietly. "I will bring him in for examination. But you must not breathe a word of this to anyone, you understand me? I am trusting you with something as important as my life."

Bates frowned. "John? Why? What is this?"

John turned away, hiding his face from the bright strode lighting of the lab. "The owner of this blood is my youngest son," he murmured, and slammed out.

…...

"So who can tell me which stage of mitosis the cell is at in question 4.3? You, Sam?" Miss Gale, the biology teacher, nodded to a tall, lanky, untidy-haired boy sitting in the second row before his enormous textbook.

"Prophase, because we can see the chromatin," Sam Winchester replied quietly, scoring, as he always did. Miss Gale smiled in assent. "Did everyone hear that? Prophase. Simon, if you don't stop making that noise it'll be outside the door for you...thank you, Sam. Let's press on, class..." She was interrupted by the bell signalling the end of the school day clanging through the corridors and her class surging to their feet. "Finish the questions for tomorrow, then," she called shrilly-very few of them heard her. One who did was Sam, whom she saw scrawling the instruction on his hand in biro. His was an ambiguous story-he had arrived here only a couple of weeks ago and had already proved himself top of the class, a slightly shy, friendly boy who revealed nothing of his past. On that very first day he had come in with a livid set of bruises on his arm and neck that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide under his jacket, and when she had asked him about them he had replied automatically that he had tripped before almost running away. Now she watched him gather up his books and leave the classroom with the others, and she knew that once again she would see him walking across the lawn in the direction of the darker part of town, and that once again she would say nothing about how alone he seemed.

"How the hell d'you know so much?" Sam's friend Steve jokily asked him. "Man, they call me a geek but I damn well don't know what prophase is..."

"Though you could draw an accurate diagram of the interior of the USS Enterprise," Sam pointed out, shoving the unruly chestnut hair out of his eyes and shivering as they left the building and were struck by the cold air. Steve grinned, unrepentant.

"There are worse talents...hey, you want to come down to Starbucks with the guys before you go home?"

Sam sighed, wanting to so badly. "I can't, Steve, my brother gets really annoyed if I'm not home on time..."

"Man, you never go anywhere!"

"I know," Sam said regretfully. "I really wish I could but I gotta go now. See you tomorrow, right?"

"Sure, see you..." Sam turned away and began to walk away across the lawn, backpack bouncing on his shoulders as the smile faded from his face, the light in his green-gold-blue wide hazel eyes dying away.

He did not want to go home.

Dean had been in a mood for days, and Sam could not imagine why, since his brother did not even have a job at the moment and instead, since they weren't currently working a job, just got to please himself all day so long as he still oversaw Sam's weapons training, which was never quite good enough to satisfy their father. John was not even around at the moment-he had taken off to see some friend of his in Minnesota three days ago and had not been seen since. Come to think of it, maybe his absence was why Dean was being so grumpy.

Normally Sam would have been happy to get home when his father was not around, but what with Dean's bad temper, the possibility of coming home to find Dean in bed with some girl, like yesterday, and the continual nightmares and flashback attacks he had been having recently and now associated with their current 'home', he would rather just have stayed at school with his friends and his books. Gone to Starbucks with Steve and the others...

Flashbacks...back to that time six months ago now, when he had run away and gotten himself kidnapped by a sadistic wraith calling himself Dr Pierce, who had made Sam believe that his brother and father were actually trying to kill him...followed by those horrific fever dreams that Sam could never fully remember-though that did nothing to reduce the memory of the sheer and horrific terror he had experienced whilst in their grip. He did not know why they should have increased again so suddenly, but he hated it. He had always been prone to extremely vivid nightmares, and it wasn't as if his lifestyle had helped that tendency much, but that did not mean he had to like it. Nor did it ever get any easier.

He was slow to walk home-he often wished that he lived nearer to some of his friends, so that he did not always have to go home alone, but the run-down motel he currently inhabited with Dean and Dad on the outskirts of town was essentially isolated from all civilisation. It was not in the safest part of town either, though Sam was not especially worried about that. Whatever he thought of his hunter's lifestyle, at least it had given him the skills he needed to defend himself against more than supernatural enemies. He had always been independent, and being able to protect himself was just another facet of that.

Dean and Dad did not seem to think so, though...it was stupid really. They were the ones who pushed Sam through the training, and then they were the ones who were worried if he was an hour late getting home. Dean called him a danger magnet-Sam tried very hard not to agree.

The walk home took Sam half an hour before he arrived at their motel and saw the Impala parked outside their room. Then he stopped short, frowning, and guilt filled him at the way his heart sank on seeing his father's truck parked beside Dean's car. So he was back.

Great.

Sam continued forwards, skirting the two vehicles and pushing his key into the door of their room. He could hear muffled conversation inside as he stepped through into the room, and saw Dean and Dad sitting at the scratched table, talking in low voices. They fell silent when he entered.

"Hey, Dad," Sam ventured a little nervously. There was something in John's eyes that...terrified him. Probably just another flashback.

"Where've you been, Sam?" his father asked him. Sam was surprised.

"Uh-at school, of course." He smiled at Dean, who nodded back, and then went past his father and brother towards his bed, where he dumped his backpack and began pulling books out of it.

"Do you always get home this late?" John said.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "But it's not late, it's only four-thirty." John's face tightened. "And what do you think you're doing now?" he demanded. Sam had only just opened his English book to begin planning an essay, and now, suspecting what could be coming, he felt the familiar defiance rise up inside him. He hated these tiny motel rooms. There was nowhere to get out and hide.

"I'm doing my homework."

"No point," John told him. "We're leaving tonight."

Sam felt some emotion akin to panic burst through him. "Tonight? But you said we'd be here a few weeks at least!"

"Don't contradict me, boy," John told him, and now Sam realised that what he had seen in his father's eyes was no illusion. It was some bizarre mixture of anger and fear, and Sam did not understand. Maybe something was tracking them and they had to escape it? But John Winchester never ran and hid from danger-he stood up and laughed in its face.

"Why're we going?" he asked stubbornly. Dean, recognising the foreplay of a major Winchester versus Winchester battle, sighed heavily.

"Because I say we are, that's why," John told him. "Now leave that stuff alone and pack your things."

Sam knew it was only asking for trouble. But he was tired and angry, and he did not know why his father wouldn't just explain what the hell was going on, and he had just begun to fit in here, find real friends, he was enjoying his classes. He could not stop them leaving. But instead of obeying his father's orders and beginning to pack, he turned back to his homework and started to write. John Winchester was across the room in seconds, sweeping Sam's pile of books off the bed so that they crashed haphazardly to the floor and rounding on his youngest son.

"For once in your life, Sam, do as I say! You will not ignore my orders and you will show some respect, you understand me? God knows I've tried so hard with you, Sam, but this..."

Sam was amazed, bewildered. All he had done was try and do his homework.

"What have you tried?" he demanded, standing up to face his father. He had grown nearly three inches in the past year and now stood as tall as John, although he was still much slighter. "Tried to make me someone I'm not? Tried to make me like Dean? Well, sorry, Dad, but it's not going to happen. I'm not Dean and I never will be, and you're just gonna have to live with that!"

John gave a roar of fury and for a moment Sam thought he was really going to hit him, and he stood his ground with the fearlessness of a blinding rage despite the proximity of another terrifying flashback. But John did not lash out. Instead his voice dropped low and he snarled into Sam's face: "You want to know why we're leaving, Sam? You want to know where we're going? I'm taking you to see a friend of mine, a friend who thinks he knows what the hell is wrong with you!"

Sam blinked in surprise, the anger suddenly draining out of him, leaving him disoriented. "What's _wrong_ with me?"

"Dad." Dean had come up behind John, green eyes filled with concern. "Dad, it's okay, let's just go."

"No!" Sam cried. "What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with me!" He was panicked inside, he did not know why. As if something huge was about to happen-huge and terrible, that his life would never be free of. He could not stand to be kept in the dark about any of it. "What's going on?"

"Dad-" Dean sounded almost desperate. "Don't..."

John was still breathing hard, fury still blazing in his dark eyes. "You're a little freak of nature is what's wrong with you, Sam," he hissed, voice dripping with loathing. "Now pack your stuff and get a move on." And he turned and strode out, slamming the door behind him, leaving a bewildered Dean and a hurt, traumatised Sam alone together.

…...

Dr Bates, sitting alone in his lab before the computer, punched the number one on his cellphone and held it to his ear, speed-dialling the most important contact he had. "Hello?" he said into the phone. "Is that the Commander? I think I have another one for you." A shrill gabbling could be heard as his contact replied. "Yes, yes, a boy. A hunter. I'll be checking him over tomorrow..." Another pause. "Yes, of course. You can count on me, Commander." A final pause, and then he flicked the phone closed. And smiled.

**So there's the first chapter and I hope you liked it! Should I carry on with this one? Please let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter for you, I'm really really grateful for all your reviews! After this I'm going to try and post a chapter a week, I know I did more before but I'm so busy at the moment...so one a week unless I get time and inspiration in between, hope that's okay with everyone. I don't have a chapter count yet but I see it as being longer than _Dreaming True_ by a fair bit. **

**You all thought John was being pretty harsh to Sam-I'm sorry but it's not about to get better...**

Chapter 2:

"So it's about that _dream_?" Sam said in amazement. "Dad's doing this because I had one random dream about the wraiths before I met them?"

Dean shrugged. "That's what he told me. That your having a vision could mean something and he was trying to track it down. But I don't know any more."

The brothers were seated in the Impala, Sam in the passenger seat and Dean driving, as usual, following the bulk of their father's truck directly ahead. Dean had spent the last hour or so trying to make his little brother believe that the said father did not really think of his younger son as a freak of nature, but though Sam had stopped arguing with him Dean could tell from the pain still so evident in his expressive hazel eyes that his hurt had gone too deep for him to heal-that John had really cut Sam to the core this time and maybe only John himself would ever be able to fix that.

Dean was furious at his father. He had come storming home about an hour before Sam, raging at his absent youngest child's lateness, pacing the room...finally sitting down with Dean and explaining only that he thought that Sam may have had a real vision back in Indiana, and that it needed looking into. Dean had not been able to work out why John should be so _angry_ with Sam about that, but going off at him like he had, saying the things he had said...that was going too far. Someone as sensitive as Sam could be destroyed by something like that. The kid was strong enough to fight monsters, live his life, have some independence, stand up to his father, even withstand levels of torture-the list went on and on. But Dean knew perfectly well that the one thing that could break his little brother was something like what their father had inflicted on him in the motel.

And as soon as they stopped Dean was going to call their dad on it. Because no-one was allowed to hurt Sammy like that. No-one.

…...

He did not, as it happened, get the chance. They drove half the night, John refusing even to pick up his cell when Dean tried to call him from the Impala, and around midnight, despite trying his hardest to stay awake and continue his conversation with his brother, Sam finally fell asleep, leaning his head against the passenger door and looking quite annoyingly young and vulnerable to his older brother. It was a couple of hours later that he was woken from a restless sleep by the sound of Dean's door slamming and he jerked up, disoriented and confused, to find the Impala parked outside yet another motel. It was three in the morning. After that he remembered Dean dragging him inside, caught a brief first glance of their room, and then John had gone again, leaving them to themselves. Sam, slowly waking up, felt a pang of hurt. Does he really hate to be around me so much? he wondered desolately. Am I too much of a freak and a disappointment?

Dean seemed to read this in his eyes. "Sam, he's just being an asshole. You know what he can be like. Get some sleep, okay?"

"You too," Sam said. "You've been driving for hours..."

Dean grinned. "I'm used to it."

Sam managed to bring a smile to his own face at last. "Yeah, I guess you don't mind spending a few hours alone in the dark with your baby, huh?"

Dean threw a pillow at him.

…...

Sam was woken the next morning by someone shaking him, and looked up in alarm until he realised that it was his father. He sat up, brushing the sleep from his eyes.

"Dad?"

John put a finger to his lips. "Get dressed quietly now, Sam. Don't wake your brother. We have to go."

Sam frowned, still dizzy with sleep. "Where?"

John turned away. "Keep quiet. Just trust me, okay?"

Sam's first impulse was to do the exact opposite, remind John that he had called him a freak of nature the night before and that this freak didn't want to follow orders any more...but if it was to do with that vision...he wanted to find out for himself what was going on, and for that reason alone he got out of the bed and began dragging on his jeans and shirt and sneakers from the night before, picking up his brown hoodie and taking a last look at Dean as he left.

He had a sneaking suspicion that John did not want his brother alerted to their departure because Dean would not be happy accepting whatever it was they were doing. But Sam was not going to interfere with that-he wanted to know the truth this time.

He got into the passenger seat of John's truck, his father beside him, and for a long while they drove in complete silence as they entered the village where this 'friend' of John's lived. John himself sat bolt upright, knuckles white on the wheel, body tense and maybe-though Sam could not be sure-straining away from him a little.

At last Sam asked: "So what exactly does this guy want?"

John's hands on the steering wheel whitened. "He wants to check you over, that's all."

Sam frowned. "You mean like a medical exam?"

"Something like that."

"Does he have any theories about how-"

"_No_, Sam. Now shut up and let me concentrate."

…...

Dr Bates knew who to expect when he heard the knock on the door of his house and moved with much anticipation to open it. There stood a grim-looking John Winchester, as he had thought, and just behind him, half hidden behind his father, a boy he knew must be this unknown, demon-blooded son. He was shocked at how normal the kid looked; tall and lanky, with floppy, overlong brown hair falling into his face and wide hazel eyes that, though wary and defiant, were filled with a startling innocence.

"John, it's good you came..." He ushered them inside. "And this is your son?" He had not known for long that John even had a second son. Dean the man tended to boast about, but it was not until he had seen the blood sample that he had even heard of Sam's existence.

The boy held out his hand. "I'm Sam Winchester."

Bates took it and squeezed. "I'm pleased to meet you, Sam," he said intently. He had rarely seen anyone who looked less like a part-demon, freakish and dangerous psychic. "Dr Eddie Bates."

"You think I had a vision back in Indiana?" Sam asked him. Bates glanced up at John, wondering how much he had told the boy.

"He does," John said. "He wants to do a few tests in the hope that we can work out how."

Sam nodded slowly. "Well-okay."

"Excellent," Bates said, rubbing his hands together. "Shall we proceed?"

Sam was scared. He knew that there was nothing to worry about, that this was going to be no more frightening than a visit to a doctor-but he was still terrified, shaking inside. He did not know why-it was all mixed in with anger at his father and confusion about this whole business, but above all of that he was just simply afraid. He wished Dean was with him-he would show no weakness, he knew that, but Dean's presence would give him the illusion of strength he did not think he had. And reassure him that there was one person in the vicinity who gave a damn what happened to him.

He did not kid himself that his father did.

The lab was no nightmare room from a horror movie, as he had feared. Just a small square room with walls lined with books, a desk with a computer in the middle and a few other tables around the edges piled with strange instruments, microscopes and chemicals in glass bottles. The only thing that Sam, in his slightly paranoid condition, found ominous, was the fact that there were no windows down here. Bates ushered them inside and asked Sam and John to sit down, while he went across to the bookshelves and took down a couple of volumes, before returning to the desk and setting them down.

"So, Sam," he said. "How about you tell me in your own words exactly how your vision in Indiana came about."

Sam shivered involuntarily, the trauma of those days smashing back with a vengeance. "Well-" he said slowly. "It was about six months ago, and we were in Minnesota somewhere , and I had a dream that there were these kids locked up in a warehouse in Uplands, Indiana. I was sure it was true, somehow...so..." _So I ran away and got myself kidnapped and almost killed...felt my dad nearly beat me to death but it WASN'T REAL..._"So we went up there and found that it was true, there really were kids taken captive exactly as I'd seen them, and we fought off the wraiths who were holding them and got them out." He felt his father's gaze on him, sharp, questioning, but did not look up. He did not want to remember any more.

Dr Bates nodded slowly. "You were asleep for this dream?"

"Yeah."

"And this is the only one of its kind that you have ever had."

"I think so."

Bates leaned forwards. "Sam, would you say that you were in perfect mental health at the time of the vision?"

Sam blinked, looking up. "Uh-yeah." _It was just afterwards that I wasn't, anyway._..

"Very well," Bates said, straightening up. "I would like to examine you, Sam, if you are acceptable to that."

Sam hardened his will. _Dad will not see me weak and scared ever again_. "Sure."

Bates looked over at John. "I would like a cheek-cell sample from you, if that would be acceptable."

"Very well." John took the cotton wool he was offered and wiped it along the inside of his cheek. Sam watched apprehensively-he knew enough about biology to understand that this might well herald a DNA test-why would they need that? There was no doubt about his parenting.

"Perhaps you would not mind stepping outside?" Bates asked John, who looked dubious. "What are you going to do?"

"Only check him over. It will only take a couple of hours, but if you want to return home I can assure you that Sam will be perfectly safe here." There was no reason, Sam told himself, to feel creeped out by that statement. John looked extremely dubious-Sam wondered why. There was no reason for him to stick around in case his freak son got scared.

"Alternatively you must feel free to make yourself at home upstairs," Bates went on, and John finally nodded. "Fine. You...you let me know the minute you're done."

_No_! Sam wanted to scream. _No, Dad, don't leave me alone_! But he said nothing, kept his face expressionless as his father exited the lab, leaving him and Bates staring at one another in silence.

"So, what now?" Sam asked a little brazenly. He had discovered a long time ago that trying to exercise the same kind of cockiness as Dean did helped strengthen his resolve, and that was something he badly needed right now.

"Just come through here, Sam..." Bates was leading him towards a smaller door in the wall, and Sam followed uneasily, but determined to be brave this time. If he was a freak then he would not be a useless one, not be a cowardly one. He would be strong. But it took all his courage to continue when Bates opened the door to reveal a small chamber that was exactly how he had feared the lab would look. The walls were a kind of grey steel, ringed with glass-fronted cabinets that were all so perfectly tidy and clean they seemed unreal-right down to the extremely disturbing-looking instruments and objects within, many involving sharp blades. In the centre of the room there was a reclining chair, like one in a dentist's surgery, except that this one was complete with leather restraints. Add a few splashes of blood and it would have been a torture chamber from a horror flick. Sam glanced up at the hunter-turned-scientist, and the smile he received in return did not reassure him.

"All right, Sam, if you could just sit in that chair there..." He pointed to the dentist's chair and Sam gulped.

_I am not a coward._

"Okay," he agreed, crossing to the chair and with the utmost reluctance sitting down in it. Bates removed a few objects from one of the cabinets; Sam strained to see what they were but Bates held them shielded close to his body. He returned to the chair and put a hand on Sam's shoulder to make him lie back.

"Just relax, Sam."

"I am," Sam lied.

"Lie back," Bates told him. "It'll be easier for both of us."

_I am not weak._

Sam obeyed, feeling his heart pounding within him. He was terrified, but he did not understand why. Then he saw what the doctor had removed from his coat pocket and panic bolted through him. He began to sit up, but Bates had at that exact moment fastened one of the leather bands across his chest and the sudden movement made him choke.

"What the hell are you doing!" He could not take his eyes off the syringe in the doctor's hand, trying to reach round the back of the chair and release the bonds around his middle. "You said-"

With the strength of an experienced hunter Bates grabbed one of Sam's flailing hands and forced it down, fastening it to one of the arms of the chair, then proceeded to do the same to the other hand. Sam fought not to let him wrist be held down but the scientist was surprisingly strong and he could not stop him. Sam struggled desperately but the restraints just cut deeper into his skin, marking his wrists with red lines. Panic-stricken he stared up at Bates, unable to believe what was happening.

Bates put aside the syringe and withdrew a small, silver bladed knife. "Just lie still and try not to fight me," he said, very quietly. "I don't know what you are and I don't intend to let you get the jump on me. Don't think I won't kill you if you make me, you little freak."

**Cliffy already? Sorry! I know I have a thing about evil doctors but trust me he's not the worst you'll get in this story...it'd make my day if you'd leave me a review, good or bad, and tell me what you think! **

**Also, since I haven't yet decided everything about later chapters I have these questions which I'm not sure how to answer so hope you can tell me your preference:**

**-Is anyone interested in seeing Sam get close to a girl later in this story?**

**-I had the idea of putting one of the evil psykids from the series or bad guys connected to them in here as well, to go even further AU. Does that sound like a good or a really bad and weird idea? I'd really appreciate knowing what you think since I'm really stuck on that one!**

** Please tell me your preferences for these questions because they'll be relevant in later chapters!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for all your positive feedback as always!**

Chapter 3:

Dean opened his eyes and blinked in the harsh light streaming through the window. "Hey, Sammy," he mumbled. "Dad? Why'd no-one wake me?"

No reply.

He rolled over, his blurred vision squinting at the clock beside the bed-it was ten AM. He must really have been tired...where was everyone?

He sat up. Sam's bed was empty, the covers rumpled as if he had left in a hurry. He frowned. Where the hell would the kid have gone so 'early' in the morning? He just hoped that Sam hadn't done anything stupid after everything Dad had said the day before...he fumbled for his cellphone, flipped it open and selected Sam's number. The dial tone went on and on, then abruptly switched to voicemail. "Hey it's Sam, I can't get to the phone right now, please leave me a message." Dean scowled and called his father instead-John picked up on the second ring.

"Dad thank God is Sam with you? He's not picking up his phone and-"

"Dean, relax." John did not sound relaxed himself. "I know exactly where Sam is and I'm sure he's fine."

Dean frowned. "Where are you? Hey, Dad-what aren't you telling me?"

John made a frustrated noise. "Look, Dean-just hang in there and we'll be back in about an hour. Okay?"

"No-Dad-" Dean was beginning to be scared, and angry. "Dad, where's Sam? I want to come find you. You gotta tell me where you are!"

John sighed and Dean's hand whitened on the phone-not only for his defiance of his father but because he could feel, deep down inside, that something bad was happening to his little brother. He did not know how-he just _knew_. John reeled off an address and Dean scribbled it down, then lunged to his feet and started pulling his clothes on.

…...

"So," Bates said softly, "You really don't know what you are either."He reached out with the knife and cut down the front of Sam's T-shirt, scratching the skin beneath and tearing the material to ribbons. Sam gasped in pain and tried to shrink away, but the restraints made any movement impossible.

"Don't struggle," Bates reminded him. "It'll only be harder on you. Remember I can always sedate you and do this while you're out cold."

"Why are you doing this?" Sam demanded angrily. "I haven't done anything wrong, you psycho!"

"Just relax, Sam." He leant over him with the knife again but Sam refused to cower back, even when the sharp blade came down to touch the bare skin of his throat.

"You gonna kill me?" he hissed, more angry than afraid. "'Cause you should know that my dad and my brother won't let you get away with that. They'll rip you to shreds."

Bates looked surprised. "I don't want to kill you, Sam. I just want to make sure you are who I think you are."

"And who's that?" Sam snarled, pulling at the restraints for all he was worth. Bates did not reply, instead turning the little knife up to the light and inspecting it, then looking back down at Sam.

"We will see," he said, and he gripped Sam's hand and drew the knife carefully in a horizontal line across the front of his wrist. Sam gasped in shock and nearly cried out-managed to restrain his scream just in time, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"What are you doing?"

"I need a little information about you, Sam." He caught some of the blood trickling from the wound on Sam's wrist in a small test-tube. Then he withdrew from a table beside him a pair of electrodes, which he fixed to Sam's temples with a kind of sticky gel. The boy tried to twist his head away but Bates gripped his neck, almost choking him as he twisted the electrodes into place.

"Now, please just relax..." He flipped a switch on one of the bizarre machines beside him and Sam felt a current of energy strike through his skull, burning like fire. He gasped, trying in vain to shake the electrodes loose, terror snapping through him as he wondered what the hell this could be doing to him. He began to panic as the pain increased, climbing higher and higher in the agony that his head had become, and he struggled to free himself-he was powerless. He saw little lights flash in his vision and he knew he was going to pass out. No no no...why's he doing this...why...Dean...you gotta come for me...please...But Dean did not know where he was-the only one who did was his father, and he wasn't going to come down here before the two hours allotted to Dr Bates were up. Hell, maybe this had been his intention all along...no, Sam thought. No, Dad wouldn't do that...he started fighting for breath, darkness swimming at the edges of his sight. No-no-

And the electrodes were ripped off his head; he slumped forwards, shaking, sweating, panting, his hair flopping forward over his eyes. The pain in his head made it impossible to see, to think...he felt someone's hands at his uninjured wrist, taking his pulse, then feeling his heartbeat. He fought to focus his eyes and caught the end of Bates' sentence: "...just scanning your brain for any abnormal activity...of which there is none...I hope you'll agree that my scanning methods are thorough."

Sam tried to speak through a throat that seemed rough and sore, as if the screams he had fought so hard not to release really had burned the inside of his windpipe. To concentrate when his head hurt so horrifically he could barely stand to face the light of the room at all. "Why..." he rasped. "Why...are you...I never..."

"You seem ordinary enough," Bates commented thoughtfully. "And yet...your vision...and the blood...it cannot be natural..." He hesitated. "I wonder if it would be worth a full-body X-ray."

Sam could feel consciousness drifting away from him, no matter how hard he tried to hang on. He could not black out here, in the hands of this psycho-but the pain inside his head was so intense he was sure that it was simply going to kill him. He felt himself fall limp, his breathing almost stopping entirely, dimly saw Bates lean over him with an expression of alarm as, despite his fierce efforts, shock and pain slowly overcame him. He heard shouting, crashing-a voice he thought he recognised. "Dean?" he mumbled hazily, and then a further spike of pain sent him tumbling down into the darkness alone.

…...

Dean had come barrelling into Bates' house to be met by his father, waiting in the front room with a guilty, harassed expression on his face. Instantly the twenty-one year old glanced around for his brother.

"Where's Sam?"

Johns guilty expression deepened.

"_Where's Sam_, Dad?"

"Being examined," John replied uneasily. Dean blinked.

"Why the hell-"

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy. My friend is a scientist who...believes he may be able to track down the source of Sam's...vision. He just wanted to check the kid over."

Dean frowned. "He wanted to examine him but you couldn't be in the room and it's taking this long? That doesn't seem a bit...off...to you, Dad?"

"This isn't just a doctor's checkup, Dean. I have no idea what he'll have to do."

"Which is exactly the reason you shouldn't have left Sammy alone with him!" Dean stormed out, shouting back; "So where's his lab?"

Guiltily, John showed him. He had been feeling uneasy about this for some time now, and deep down inside he was a little afraid that Dean might just be right. Sam and Bates were gone from the lab-it struck a warning note through John but Dean went absolutely crazy, rounding on his father in a fury.

"So where the hell are they!"

"Dean, calm down...they're probably just through there..." John indicated the other door and Dean strode over to it, set his ear against the wood. No sound could be heard. He sized it up, then took a step back, readying himself to kick it in. John grabbed his arm.

"Dean, no!"

Dean shook himself free. "Get off me, Sammy's in there!"

"Dean, there's nothing to worry about-"

Dean rammed his shoulder into the door as he had been taught-it only took a couple more tries before the whole thing came crashing off its hinges. Dean fumbled through the dust and haze, heard an indignant cry. Someone was running away...he saw an indistinct figure stumbling off in the other direction, heard another door slam but barely noticed. His attention was wholly focused on the motionless form slumped and bound in the strange reclining chair in the centre of the room. He was not aware of his father's entry behind him, nor of John's immediate pursuit of the fleeing figure, only of stumbling across to the chair where his brother lay, calling his name desperately.

"Sam...Sammy, c'mon..." There was a deep cut along Sam's wrist, still spilling blood, and his T-shirt had been cut open, trailing a long scratch there, too, and Dean sucked in his breath in anger, but there was nowhere near enough blood to make the kid pass out. There were also strange dark bruises, though, on the sides of Sam's head-they had no way of knowing what else that sick traitor had done to his baby brother. He cut the restraints away from the boy's wrists and chest with his knife, another surge of rage filling him at the sight of the nasty, livid bruise marks the straps had left. As soon as they were gone Sam slumped to the side, almost falling off the chair, before Dean caught and steadied him, tapping his face gently.

"Sam...Sammy?" He cupped his little brother's face in his two hands, careful not to touch the frighteningly black marks on his temples. "Sam, c'mon kiddo, I know you can hear me, time to wake up now..." Sam stirred in his grasp and moaned softly; Dean felt a surge of relief.

"That's it, Sammy, you can do it..."

Sam's eyes cracked open and then snapped shut again, and he gave a small wounded cry as the light stung his pounding head. Dean supported him, pulling him into a sitting position against his own body, holding him close. The boy was shivering uncontrollably, apparently from shock more than cold-what had that scientist done to him?

"Dean?" Sam whispered hoarsely at last into the older boy's jacket. "Dean, he said...he told me...freak, gonna die...hurts" He turned his head slightly to lean into his brother's shoulder, clearly only semiconscious. "Oh God it hurts..."

"Hey, hey, Sammy, what is it hurts?" Dean hated this more than anything else, seeing his little brother in such dire straits. He put his other arm out around him, holding Sam's trembling body closer in a desperate effort to comfort him. "It's okay,you're safe now, just tell me what it is hurts..."

"Head," Sam moaned. "Scanned my...my brain, wanted to know...if I'm a freak..."

Dean could not believe this was happening. So Dad had brought Sammy here to try and find out the reason for his one-off vision six months ago, and handed him over to this sadistic doctor who had told him he was a freak and badly hurt him trying to find out to what extent. Rage pulsed through him at the realisation-he just hoped that John caught the son of a b*tch responsible, so that Dean could give him his own version of justice-and he wasn't stopping at that. For once in his life their father needed to know that this time he had done Sam a real wrong.

And it's my fault too. Where was I when he needed me? Asleep and dreaming of Lara...or Laura or Sara or whatever the hell her name was...

"It's okay, Sammy," he heard himself saying softly, almost crooning. "It'll be okay, we're getting you outa here and you can bet that son of a b*tch won't get away with this..." He leaned down and brushed Sam's overlong bangs out of his face; Sam's eyes were half-closed and he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness-however Bates had 'scanned his mind' it was by no conventional method...at that moment he heard running footsteps and a second later John came rushing into the room through the escape door, alone and out of breath.

"You didn't catch him?" Dean said in disbelief. John shook his head.

"He disappeared. I can't believe..."

"Well, get on with it and believe, Dad, 'cause you did this!"

John's eyes fixed on Sam, leaning against Dean, eyes closed and limp in his older brother's embrace, and for a moment guilt and tenderness flashed through them. Then, suddenly, it was gone and he was all business again.

"I had to try, Dean. Now come on, let's get the kid outa here." He made his way over to the door and Dean, seething at his apparent callousness, decided regretfully that calling him on it could wait until Sam was somewhere safe. He turned to his semiconscious little brother who was still lying huddled against him, shaking him gently.

"C'mon, Sammy, time to go..."

Sam groaned in pain and lifted his hand to his head. "'S'all...fuzzy..." he mumbled dazedly. "Can't...Dean?"

Dean's heart clenched in anger and pity. "Easy there, Sammy," he whispered. "It'll be okay. I'm not leaving you again." He put his arms around the boy and lifted him from the chair; Sam swayed and fell against him with a soft cry and Dean's arms tightened around him. Dammit, he thought. "C'mon, Sam, don't tell me I gotta carry your sorry ass outa here..."

"I'm...okay..." Sam whispered, trying to get his legs to support him. That scan-thing had really messed with his head, worse than a drug, pain and weakness so intense he had thought he was going to die, and it scared him-he could only hope it would wear off soon. Finally he managed to stand-sort of, with his arm around Dean's shoulder and Dean's other hand gripping his waist, taking most of his weight, but on his own two feet. It was thus that Dean dragged him out of the lab towards the Impala parked outside. Sam tried to go round to the passenger door, leaning on the bonnet of the car, but his strength gave out halfway and he pitched forwards towards the pavement, darkness obscuring his vision; again, Dean caught him, pulled open the back door and half-pushed, half lifted him inside, laying him full-length across the backseat. Sam smelled the clean leather, heard Dean's voice as the world began to drift again. Hurt and shocked and weakened, but safe for now-with Dean.

"Okay, Sam, you just go to sleep and we'll be back home soon..." He shot a ferocious glare at his father, who was just getting into the truck cab. Sam did not reply and Dean thought that he might already have passed out. Nothing could be done until they got back, though...

Bates was going to pay.

…...

"Commander...sir...I am so sorry!" Bates whined into his cellphone. "I tried, but the boy's family..."

"You have failed me," came the voice on the other end of the phone, deep and implacable. "Clearly I will have to finish this job myself."

"Please, sir...I told you who he was...I tested his powers..."

"And for that I will be merciful. But beware, Edward." The voice had turned menacing and Edward Bates gulped. "You are on your final chance. Return to camp immediately."

"Yessir." The Commander ended the call, and Bates shuddered as he flipped the phone closed with a definite sense of relief. His master's mood would be appeased once he had Sam Winchester-the scientist just had to hope that he himself lived that long.

**Hope you liked the chapter and as always I'd love to know what you think!**

**Also, I have a warning and an apology-I know I said I'd try to post every week. But I don't think I'll be able to next week since my school exams are starting and I have so much work to do...I wanted to get this chapter up, but I may not be able to post again for a couple of weeks as I really have to study like crazy! Just as a warning, sorry about that!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, sorry about the delay but as I said, I had exams...which thank God are now over! So here's the next chapter at last and I hope you like it...**

Chapter 4:

"I can't believe you could do something like that!" Dean snarled at his father, seething. He wanted to yell but Sam was asleep in just the other room, and the kid really needed some rest right now. They had checked him over and managed to ascertain that the main problem was the massive and painful bruises on the sides of his head, and the effective state of shock the scanning process had inflicted on Sam. Dean was pretty sure that his little brother would be all right after a proper rest, but the knowledge did not detract from his blazing rage at the people who with their combined efforts or negligence, had inflicted this upon his baby brother, including himself.

"Calm down, Dean. I had no idea that he would do that, betray me like that..."

"And why would he, anyway? I thought this guy was your friend?"

John turned away, looking uncertain. "I thought he was..."

"And why would he call Sam a freak like he did? Unless he's just a crazy psycho it makes no sense!"

John did not meet his eyes. "I don't know."

Dean struggled to control himself. "We need to work out why he did that, and where he is. There must be something...you think he'll come back for Sam?"

John shook his head. "He was my friend. He wouldn't have acted that way unless he had really gone insane."

"So what's your excuse?" Dean demanded. "You're not mad! But you left Sammy in there with that psycho and you didn't check on him, didn't wonder if he might be okay, and now you don't even seem to care that he's hurt and dammit I don't know what's wrong with you! Don't you care about him at all?" His voice had risen to a shout and now, suddenly he realised-he had never spoken this way to his father before, that was Sam's job. What was wrong with him?

John turned back towards him and for an instant John saw the sorrow and guilt in his dark eyes. Then, abruptly it was gone and the oldest Winchester was angry once more.

"Don't you ever take that tone with me, boy. Your _brother's_ fine, he doesn't need you making such a fuss over him, you understand me? He's worth nothing like as much as you seem to think he is."

"Dad-" Dean could barely believe he was hearing these words from his father's mouth. "Dad, he tries so hard-he could barely walk when we got him outa there..."

"Goddammit, Dean, will you stop covering for the little freak and let me think!" With that, John stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later Dean heard the truck's engine start up but he did not move, standing fists clenched and panting in the centre of the room. Suddenly there was a small noise from behind him and he whirled to find Sam standing there, leaning against the doorpost, his white, bruised face filled with hurt. It was obvious that he had heard every word that John had said.

"He hates me, Dean," the boy whispered, not for the first time. It was just that this was the first time Dean had considered that Sam might actually be right.

…...

An hour later John had still not returned and Dean's anger at him was only mounting. With it was confusion-sure, the man had always been less patient, less thoughtful, less affectionate to Sam-Dean knew why. It was simply because Sam was so independent, so headstrong...because he refused to lie down and take what his father threw at him, because he questioned his orders and wanted to live his own life. And because in the face of any adversity John gave no quarter. He could not show his feelings easily-it was just the way he was, and unfortunately that happened to contrast sharply with just the way _Sam_ was. He and Sam fought-it sucked, but it was life.

This was completely different.

This was John treating Sam like, in his own words, a freak. Like a hated monster who bore no relation to his son at all. Like...someone to be feared, kept at a distance. And that just was not normal! All Sam had done was have a vision, six months ago, and he had saved the lives of a bunch of little kids with it too. John's attitude just made no sense. What could he possibly think that could compel him to treat his youngest son that way?

Sam seemed to have recovered from his ordeal mostly; he still looked haggard and slightly traumatised and the bruises on his head, only partially concealed by his overlong hair, were as alarming as ever, but he was standing on his own two feet and knew what was going on around him, and that was definitely an improvement. But the pain in his eyes was terrible to see-not the physical pain which he insisted was gone. The pain of knowing what his father thought of him-having heard it from the man's own lips. Dean had tried so hard to convince him that John did not hate him, that he was stressed and angry, but his protests were in vain since he could not believe in them himself.

"Look, Sam," he said now, frustrated beyond words at his father. "There is no earthly reason for Dad to hate you. He's guilty, right? He took you in there and gave that son of a b*tch free rein. He's _guilty_. That's all. You know what he can be like."

"Dean." Sam said with a hint of desperation. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, his unruly hair falling into his pale face. "I've always driven him mad, you know that. 'Cause I wouldn't choose this life and I can't keep pretending I would. It's just a small step..."

Dean surged to his feet and strode to the window, shoulders set in anger. His little brother watched him nervously, desperately, as if afraid he too would storm out and leave him alone. "Dammit Sammy! You think if Dad ever hated you he would have pulled you outa your cradle in the fire and saved you like he did? You think he woulda left Mom in there if not for you and me? He doesn't hate you and he never will-Sam?" Sam was standing stock-still behind him, staring. His hazel eyes were filled with horror.

"Sam, what is it?"

"Dad left Mom to save me?" he whispered and Dean realised what he had said with a clutch of the heart like a blow-realised that Sam had never known exactly what had happened in his nursery that terrible night. "Oh God, Sam no, I mean..."

"She's dead because of me?" Sam said in disbelief. "No wonder Dad-"

Dean lunged across the room and took his little brother by the shoulders. "No, Sammy! Listen to me! I didn't mean to say that but for God's sake that's not your fault! You were six months old! Okay? That is the one thing in the world you can never blame yourself for, you hear me?"

Sam looked up at him through hopeless, wide puppy-dog eyes and opened his mouth to speak, when they were interrupted by a familiar noise-a sharp crack, and something small and hard was fired across the room through the half-open window to bury itself in the opposite wall just above Dean's head. The older boy yelled and pushed Sam down on the ground beneath him. They were under fire.

Sam fell to his hands and knees beneath Dean; he knew enough to realise what was happening. Someone was shooting at them-maybe the sniper was out in the parking lot judging by the general direction the shot had come from. Why? And who? They had no way of knowing. Dean, crawling and keeping low, had made it across to the table and pulled his own gun down towards him and even as Sam watched he was loading and priming it. Everything else was in the trunk of the Impala-

"Get under here," Dean ordered him in a harsh whisper, gesturing to the table as another shot blasted across the room. Whoever was behind this had a pretty terrible aim, and it wasn't a great plan, to be sure, but that didn't mean it couldn't kill them..."No, Dean!" Sam returned. "I'm not-"

"Sam, there's only one gun so unless you want to see the colour of your own insides in about a minute just do as I tell you dammit!" He rose into a crouch and fired back out of the window-he did not expect to hit anything, he just wanted to warn the sniper that someone in here was fighting back. A novice assassin might be scared away...not their luck this time, of course. Sam scooted under the table, hating that it was necessary, pulling his clasp knife from his jeans pocket just in case their attacker made it to the room, as Dean fired again, seeing a dark figure come into focus across the parking lot, and ducked swiftly.

"Who is it?" Sam hissed.

"Can't see-" He peeked up above the windowsill, trying to get a lock on the sniper. The man was coming into focus now, tall and thin, holding a long rifle-Dean fired a third time and again missed-then a bullet straight past him, so close he had to stumble back to avoid it, lost his balance, twisted to try and catch himself and fell awkwardly, striking his head on the side of the table as he did so. He hit the ground hard and did not move.

"No!" Sam cried desperately, lunging out of his hiding place towards where his big brother lay, exposed in the centre of the room. He gripped Dean under the arms and dragged him back to safety, shaking his brother frantically, searching for a sign of life. To his relief he found a steady pulse and strong breathing, and even as he watched Dean moaned, stirring. He was all right-would be, if Sam could find a way out of this. He grabbed the gun and rose up by the window-the sniper was much closer and Sam could almost make out his features-he hesitated.

He was a human. Was Sam really going to shoot him?

Sam hardened his heart. His own survival depended on this, and if that wasn't enough then so did Dean's. He could try and disable him, at least. He aimed at the man's legs and fired, the jolt of the weapon shuddering his whole body. The bullet streaked across the parking lot, missing the sniper by an inch, forcing him to jump aside. Sam reloaded swiftly, glancing back at Dean who was moving feebly, groaning, but clearly in no state to run. He scanned the parking lot-the sniper was gone, he must have jumped behind a car-

The face leaped out at him from nowhere-Dr Bates! Metres away, the bullet flying so close to Sam's head he felt it ruffle his hair. Determinedly he shot again at the doctor's legs and this time the shot made contact, scraping across the side of the man's knee. He gave a choked cry and stumbled, leaning against a parked car to steady himself-its wailing alarm went off, splitting the stillness like a dying screech. His face twisted in anger and he fired again-Sam threw himself aside-thought he had made it-a running engine thundered through his ears-

It was as he stumbled to his feet once more that the pain in his left arm exploded and he stifled a scream. The wound was through his upper arm, small and round and spilling far too much blood. He swore in faint panic and grabbed the gun again, training it on the window but Bates was gone again and his father's truck had just pulled into the parking lot right in front of the window. John was out of the cab even before the engine had died, dashing over to the window and jumping through it, startling Sam who staggered, clutching his arm and nearly falling.

"What's happened? What have you done?" John demanded, then glimpsed Dean, just sitting up on the floor, looking dazed, and ran over to him, inspecting the bloody mark on his older son's head, then gripping his arm and pulling him to his feet.

"We have to go," John said urgently. "Sam, get your things and get in the car, you're gonna have to drive-"

"Hey," Dean protested. "I wasn't hit that hard." But John was already dragging him out of the room; Sam shoved together all their things, the wound in his arm stinging fiercely, piled everything into a duffel bag, stopped to wind an old T-shirt roughly around his arm, then fled outside after Dean and John. Dean was now walking alone and fairly steadily-clearly it had only been a mild stunning he had received but Sam was still uneasy about the idea of him driving. Still, there was nothing he could do to separate Dean from his beloved Impala, so...Sam shoved the duffel bag into the back and stood for a moment swaying slightly, trying to control the agony splitting now through his whole body from the focal point of the bullet hole in his arm.

"Sam, get in the car!" John ordered, anger plain in his voice. "There's no time to mess around." The sharp command jolted Sam from his dazedness and he stumbled round the car and got into the passenger seat. Dean was already revving the engine and the Impala went swerving out onto the road beyond the motel after their father's truck. Sam glanced at his brother, relieved that he seemed all right, then jumped as he heard a third engine kick in behind. He glanced back-just in time to see the white van crash onto the road behind them, in time to hear the first gunshot through the window of the pursuing van. He could see the figure leaning out-it was not Bates but someone else. Clearly he had an accomplice...the bullet skimmed off the side of the road, missing the Impala by inches. Dean yelled in anger and began swerving from side to side in an effort to evade them-he looked over at Sam and snapped; "Shoot back! Defend us!"

**Okay so I'm not really sure-I hope the mix of angst and action worked in this one! Reviews are much appreciated as always!**

**Also-Happy Christmas to everyone, have fun!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all your reviews, hope you like the new chapter! This may change your opinion of John a little bit...then again it might not! I'm not trying to make him that evil-it's how I think he might actually react in the circumstances but maybe I'm wrong. Oh well!**

Chapter 5:

Sam leaned out of the window, hissing in pain as his injured arm was knocked against the seat, twisting his head and shoulder out to fire back. The bullet went far wide and he cursed, narrowing his eyes and focusing hard on the gun. The fire burning through his arm made it difficult to concentrate...

I _will_ concentrate. I'm not failing again...why are they doing this?

He ducked back inside the car to reload, Dean not even looking at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. John's truck was dodging bullets like theirs but clearly he could not shoot and drive at the same time-Sam was the only one who could stop their pursuers right now. He peeked out of the window again, ducked again to avoid another bullet and fired again. This time he very nearly hit the fender of the van, but then the Impala jolted across a pothole and Sam was almost thrown clear out of the window-he gave a cry of alarm and felt Dean's hand grab the back of his jeans, barely anchoring him, pulling him back to safety. He shot again and suddenly the world lost focus, even the pain in his injured arm fading briefly. He stared blankly back at the van, sounds muted and vague; he felt his skin chill as if in a cold breeze. He looked at his left arm and was surprised to see the blood now pumping fiercely out of it, staining the T-shirt and his jacket he had tried to hide it with. That's weird, he thought disjointedly. Maybe...

"_Sammy_!"

Dean's panicked voice jerked him from his trance and he gasped as an almost unbearable agony blasted through his body. It was like his arm was on fire and the rest of his skin was all catching, flames driven around his body in the wake of his blood. He felt himself start to shake and angrily forced down the pain. He had to keep going or his whole family was lost...he shot again but he was seeing two of the van now and did not even come close. Everything was blurred and indistinct and Sam began to panic, knowing that it was a product of his blood loss. He made himself take a couple of deep breaths, trying to focus. Took aim again and fired once more, almost into darkness. He heard the crack of the shot, heard a disant cry and then a crash-his vision cleared briefly and he glimpsed the way his bullet had entered the car's engine, splitting right through. The van jerked to a stop and three people came leaping out frantically, waving black smoke away with their hands. Seeing this in his mirror, Dean slammed down on the accelerator and shot away into the distance.

…...

Half an hour later, on the outskirts of some small nameless village, two vehicles pulled up outside an old, tumbledown abandoned house. The door of the leading one opened and a tall, dark-haired man got out, holstering his gun and then slamming the door. He then crossed to the house and began picking its lock. From the other car, a sleek black Chevy Impala, emerged another man, slinging a bag over his back, shorter than the first and clad in a leather jacket. "C'mon, Sam," he called. From the passenger side a third figure then stood up a little unsteadily, the youngest of all, seeming shaky on his feet, his face white and tense. He grabbed a duffel bag from the back and then he and the older man followed their companion into the house and the door was closed behind them.

Sam stood there in the doorway looking around; it was the hallway of some old, dusty house. There was no carpet and all was bare and lonely, covered in several inches of dust. Sam swayed slightly, reached out to steady himself against the wall, told himself angrily to get a grip, then followed his brother and father through into the front room.

"We should be safe here until we work out what's going on," John was just telling Dean. "I'm thinking of giving Bobby a call, seems we could use an extra pair of hands." Then he turned, hearing Sam entering the room, and his face hardened.

"And as for you," he said coolly. "You might want to go out back and get in some practise. Except for that last lucky shot that was the worst shooting I've seen in a long time and I'm ashamed it was the work of one of my sons."

Sam stared at him confusedly, feeling a defiant response just rising up, but finding himself incapable of speaking it. He dropped the duffel bag to the floor and his right hand went involuntarily to his left arm. Even as John and Dean finally focused on the blood now staining most of his jacket Sam's world finally went dark and the ground came rushing up to meet him as he collapsed.

Dean was across the room in an instant as Sam went down, catching the kid just before he hit the floor and cradling him in his arms. "Goddammit Sam," he muttered, pulling aside the heavy jacket to inspect the wound. "Hey. Hey, Sammy, can you hear me?" No reply. He untied the T-shirt and grimaced at the sight of the injury. "Hell they hit him...why the hell didn't you say anything, kiddo?" He did not expect a response, nor did he get one. Sam had clearly lost a lot of blood and Dean was going to have to get the bullet out fast.

"He's hit?" It was his father, who was standing well back, voice carefully controlled. Dean felt a surge of anger at the man's callousness.

"Yes dammit, can you pass me the first aid box?" He expected his dad to protest, to say, no, let me do it, I'll do a better job and there's not much time, but John did not, instead calmly passing his older son the first aid kit. Dean gritted his teeth and lifted Sam's limp body in his arms with an effort; startled by the movement Sam stirred and his eyes half-opened.

"Dean...what..." He rolled his head slightly and moaned. "Hurts..."

"Easy there, stay still," Dean told him, laying him down on the dusty sofa. "Just gonna sort out this bullet hole...why didn't you say anything?"

"Not...scared..." Sam mumbled, seemingly oblivious to Dean's question, and then closed his eyes again. It's probably better you're out, kiddo, Dean thought grimly, and began work.

John had left the room and stood just outside in the tangled, overgrown backyard, trying to keep himself from caring. He stood hunched over, eyes closed, hands in pockets, trying not to think about how, only beyond the wall, Dean was stitching Sam up and saving him. Always saving him...Dean had been doing it for years. Maybe he always would...but John could not let himself care too much. Could not let himself get too close to the boy who could one day become a monster of the like the world had never seen. Potentially, the most dangerous hunt of all. One day John might have to hunt him, like he had every other threat to humanity to had come across.

How could he hunt his own son?

And yet if it had to be done...if Sam had demon blood in him...if Bates' prediction had been true...

How could he even know Sam was his? If the boy had demon blood in him would it not follow that-but Mary would never...but how else could this be? Was Sam his son at all?

John lifted his face to the darkening sky, mouth and eyes creased in anguish. "Oh God," he whispered. "Mary. Mary, what am I supposed to do?" Not for the first time he wished that he could really know what had passed in Sam's nursery right before he had arrived...what that creature had done to him and why. "How can I handle this?" he half-sobbed. "He's so much like you, Mary, so gentle, so brave, so clever. God knows I'm proud of him, Mary...but he's not gonna make it in this life like he is, and I-just-can't...I can't let him know I care, Mary, I don't know why, he makes me...angry, for no reason but that he won't just obey me. He's not like Dean...I know Dean'll always survive but Sam? One day it'll become too much and he'll just break, Mary. One day we'll lose him. I don't know what it'll take...can't believe someone like Sammy could become a monster. I'm so scared, Mary...is he even mine? How can I know? Why can't you tell me, Mary?"

He bowed his head once more. "What am I supposed to do?" he whispered.

Assuming Sam was really his son...All his hope would rest on Dean. If it ever came to it, Dean was the only one who would be able to save Sam-he had grown up doing so. No matter what...he had to believe that. He had to believe it with all his strength.

And if not-they would get to that.

…...

"We need to find out what's going on here," John said. An hour later he, Dean and Sam were seated around the small derelict sitting room in close conversation. He was in a ripped-up armchair; Sam was curled up, tired-faced, pale and wrapped in a blanket on half of the sofa across the room, clearly making an effort to remain conscious, and Dean, alert to his every movement, was perched next to him. "Clearly Bates is a key part of it, but he is not alone. What we need to do is work out what it is they want."

"That's pretty obvious," Dean said. "They want Sammy, for whatever reason."

"It's the whatever reason part concerns me," John said darkly. "Did he say anything to you, Sam?"

Sam shook his head wearily. "Said...I was...a freak, an abomination...I don't know why." The words were hard to get out, painful deep down within, since it was not just the crazy psycho Bates who had spoken them-he would not care about that-but also his own father. It was that that made him suspect that, maybe, they were right, and there really was something wrong with him...Dean leaned over and touched his shoulder in instinctive comfort-the kid had been through hell today, ended up unconscious twice, and it was just about time he got a break.

"He's crazy, Sam, don't think about it. I mean-" He tried to smile. "Unless he just means freakishly tall, which I'd have to agree is true." He was gratified by the ghost of a smile that rose to Sam's haunted face. "I don't know, Dad," he went on, turning back to John. "Maybe he was just some random lunatic. Wouldn't be the first hunter who's just lost it."

"He seems pretty focused on getting to us for this to be random," Sam objected. "I think he wants something. Maybe you wronged him some time, Dad?"

"I don't think so." John's gaze was withdrawn. He had a very good idea of what Bates wanted-how stupid could he have been to tell him that Sam had demon blood in him? He should have expected this kind of retaliation...to Bates, dammit, even a little to John himself, Sam was a dangerous monster. Some people were going to think that he was best put down.

So that meant that there could be one of three outcomes to this. Either Bates got hold of Sam, or John and Dean got hold of Bates-or John managed to talk Bates out of this crusade. That was definitely the preferable option...also the hardest. And John was not prepared to consider letting him take Sam. _So help me God, I'm not so far gone yet_...

"We just have to sit tight here until we work out some way of tracking him down," John stated. "I'll give Bobby and some others a call, see if they can find anything out. We're taking this guy down for touching our family."

"Why?" Sam asked bluntly. There was a trace of anger in his eyes. "Why bother? It's me he hurt and we all know how much that means to you, Dad." John was shocked into speechlessness and Sam stood up, dropping the blanket down on the sofa beside the amazed Dean-the faint spark of anger had morphed into a full-blown rage and his fists were clenched. "You don't give a damn about me," Sam spat. "Fine. Y'know what, fine. You've made that clear. It's that whole family honour thing you care about isn't it, not me. You know, what's the point? Why pretend? It'd be easier for you to just kick me out and say there is no honour. Have your good son and pretend no-one else exists. You don't give a damn about me, Dad, because I won't ever be you. And I don't care." He turned away and strode towards the door, his family, silent and astonished, staring after him. "You hear me," he added as he reached the door, and his voice broke only a little. "I _don't care_." And then he was gone.

**Shorter chapter this time I know, but I hope I got all the angst in there anyway...**

**'He said I had to save you, and if I couldn't...that I'd have to kill you, Sammy.'**

**I just thought-how is someone like John going to deal with knowing the truth about Sam? How would the whole thing start? That's what I'm trying to deal with here...hope I succeeded! I'd love to know what you think!**

**And of course: Happy New Year!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks as always for all your reviews and I hope you had a great New Year! **

**I also have to say-I changed the program I type on, so if anything is odd about the font or anything that would be why…I hope it won't but I'm just going to have to leap in the dark…**

Chapter 6:

Sam went upwards in the direction of heaven. He did not know why, but leaving the house was a bad plan and he had not yet investigated upstairs...maybe there would be somewhere with a lockable door he could hide in until he had regained control. He was crying and he scorned himself for being so weak-he was just grateful that he had managed to hold off until he had left the room. Winchesters did not cry, especially not when they were seventeen...

He stumbled up the stairs, gripping the banister hard, still weak from blood loss and his arm burning with pain, trying to run simply because he wanted to get to a hiding place before anyone came after him. Knowing Dean it would not be long, either...he gained the top of the flight and looked around-he was gratified to see yet another flight leading even higher upwards, this one rickety and barely more than a big ladder, apparently leading up to the attic. He went on up-he did not know why he had the urge to go up high. Maybe just to get as far away from his family as he could.

He emerged into a tiny attic room, the low ceiling patterned with cobwebs and dust, a few old boxes scattered around. A tiny window high in the wall let in the gleam of a streetlight, spinning the beam of whiteness through the darkness. Sam closed the door behind him and with an effort turned the key in the rusty lock. And he slid down to the ground in the beam of light, burying his head in his arms.

How could he have done that? How could he have said that? He had carried such terrible words all bottled up inside for so long, telling himself that he was stuck here for now, that speaking them would destroy even the illusion and possibility of being accepted by his father...pretending he could not tell how the man felt about his screwup failure of a youngest son...and now he had let the words loose and it was too late to take them back, and he was never going to have a chance in this family again...

He had never been certain if his anguish over his father was because of guilt that he could not be whom he wanted him to be, or anger that the man tried to make him. But he had always held hope, always wished that things could be different...he had been naive, maybe, but it had kept him going. Now all hope was gone. His Dad would never forgive him, and now the truth was out. It was over.

All Sam could think of was to leave, get away, run. But how could he, with Bates and whomever he was working with on his trail? He did not know why they wanted him; nothing the scientist had said made any sense...but clearly they were prepared to go to some trouble and risk to get hold of him. They wouldn't just walk away. It was suicide to go out there alone and injured...but how could he go back and callously accept the contrived protection of a man who hated him so much? How could he look his father in the eye now?

_Remember what happened last time you ran away. They came for you then. They were there for you and they didn't give up on you. Remember how Dad held you and told you it was okay, that you didn't have to be sorry? How can he hate you now?_

Sam suddenly frowned. It was a valid point. Sure, he and his father had their issues. Big issues. He knew he was a disappointment and he knew that he did not measure up to Dean. That John was never going to love him like he did Dean. But this sudden barely-veiled loathing? He could see no reason for the abrupt change. Something must have happened...

_Thinks he knows what the hell is wrong with you...a little freak of nature..._

_ Does Dad know something about me? Did Bates tell him something? Tell him I was a freak?_ The fear washed over him-what _is_ wrong with me? _What if Bates isn't crazy-what if he actually knows something we don't? _

_ Does Dean know? And how can I find out the truth?_

Undecided and suddenly terrified, he sat there staring out into the darkness, alone.

And in the shadows just behind him someone smiled and began to creep forwards.

…...

John had not moved since Sam had left the room but Dean was on his feet and planted before him.

"Are you surprised?" he demanded coldly. "Are you surprised about any of that?"

John tried to pull himself together. "He's hurt, stressed," he muttered. "Maybe feverish. He doesn't know what he's saying."

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Are you serious?" he cried, voice rising to a shout. "You've been treating him like something evil, like a sad necessity that always had to be watched out for, not caring when he got tortured because of you, cutting him down when he was bleeding out...and then you think he's delirious when he tells you he thinks you don't care? This is _Sammy_! Your _kid_!" He spun on his heel and headed for the door-John only gazed blankly after him, calling out when he reached the door: "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Sam," Dean snapped. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

John waited a heartbeat, then jumped out of his chair and half-ran out after Dean.

…...

Sam knew that someone else was in the attic. There was no sound, no movement he could detect, but his instincts were trained and highly developed and he could almost sense another presence with him. His heart was beating fast and he was beginning to panic-he had no weapons with him. Was it better to try and get out, galvanising the intruder into action, or to sit motionless until he showed himself?

Move. Run. Get out.

He stood up, trying to seem casual, and made his way across to the door. There was a scuffling behind him and he whirled-in time to see a tall, broad figure in a black hooded cloak rise from the shadows, white teeth glinting from beneath his cowl. Sam yelled and fumbled at the lock-the key would not turn, the rusty lock was jammed. He was about to thrust his shoulder into it when he sensed the hooded man reaching out to him and flung himself aside, rolling as he fell and coming to his feet once more, fists raised to fight, flicking his floppy hair out of his eyes.

"Don't fight me, Sam Winchester," the man breathed, a voice he did not know, deep and gravelly and somehow echoing. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Who are you?" Sam demanded. "What d'you want?"

"They call me the Commander," the man replied. "And it is you I want, Sam. You are more special than you know." He took a step forward and Sam shouted out:

"Stay back!"

The Commander looked annoyed. "You don't have to make things difficult."

"I'm not coming with you." _Dean...hell, Dean, I need you_...

The Commander shrugged. "As you wish." And he sprang forwards, surprisingly agile for one so big, grabbing at Sam as he came down; Sam dodged aside just in time and brought his foot across in a hard kick aimed at the man's stomach, only to find that where he should have been he was not. With supernatural speed he had risen to his feet again and even as Sam spun to face him again he had lashed out, a blow that caught the young hunter around the head so powerfully he was knocked to the floor. He had no time to recover himself-suddenly the Commander was on him, grinding him into the dust, his fists coming down and striking across Sam's face, over and over again, dizzying blows. Sam struggled to free himself but the man was stronger than any human, and as the boy squinted up through the blood in his eyes he saw the glint of a silver needle-

He screamed, at last. For the one person he could ever count on.

…...

About halfway up the stairs Dean broke into an abrupt run, pounding up the stairs so fast John feared he would fall and break his neck. "Dean," he called to his son. "Slow down!"

"Sam's in trouble-" Dean came skidding to a halt in front of the door to the attic, finding Sam's refuge on instinct, and grabbed at the handle-it would not turn. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself-who was to say that Sam was in trouble? He was being paranoid...just a stupid gut feeling-then a crash, several thumps. He banged on the door, all pretence of calm gone. "Sam? Sammy?"

And then came a cry that would haunt him for months to come, a cry filled with desperation and terror and that he was _incapable_ of answering-Sam's voice, shouting his name. Just his name.

"_Dean_!"

Dean was sobbing as he hammered on the door, rammed his shoulder into it again and again, felt it shudder. "Hang on, Sammy!" he yelled frantically. "Just hold on, I'm coming!" And then John was there and working with him to bring the door down but it was like some supernatural force held it closed-another cry, this one wordless, pain-filled, and a scuffling sound. A sigh. And then, momentarily, silence.

Then, startlingly close, a voice whispered through the door, making Dean jump a mile. "Try and forget him," it hissed. "You're never going to see your little Sammy again."

"No!" Dean cried. "You son of a b*tch, what are you doing to him? Who are you?"

There was a rattling crash, as if of something hard and heavy falling. A deafening rush of air-and the door blew violently in, so that Dean and John half fell into the attic room beyond. To be confronted with a destroyed, fallen-in roof, exposing the barren black sky, the faint beam of light from a streetlight outside illuminating a room painfully devoid of Sammy.

Dean stumbled into the room, staring out at the empty sky, and fell to his knees in the very middle of the pool of light. "Oh God, Sammy, I'm so sorry," he whispered in anguish. "I'm so sorry...I'll find you, I promise you I'll find you..."

John followed him on silent cat's feet, inspecting the room from which his youngest son had been taken. Dean heard a faint whirr as an EMF meter was clicked on-no reaction. "Wasn't a spirit," John murmured. "No sulphur either, so I doubt it was a demon..." Then silence as he stood motionless, speechless, in the centre of the room. He had run out of words, and he could not comfort his one remaining son-there was a small part of him that could not help wondering if this was not the best thing that could have happened.

…...

Far away by now, the tall figure of the Commander was striding down a narrow country lane, face still concealed by his cowl. In his arms, carried apparently effortlessly, lay the motionless body of Sam Winchester. His face was bruised and strewn across with his unruly hair, and he seemed barely to be breathing. The Commander looked down on the unconscious boy in his arms and smiled.

"Soon you will understand," he whispered, and was swallowed by the darkness.

**Please forgive me about John! I'm trying to sort him out, I really am…forgive me the cliffy too? **** Please review as always!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Early update since it's the Christmas holidays…Thanks to everyone who's still reading! **

Chapter 7:

There was light above him. Faint pinpricks penetrating the heavy darkness of his unconsciousness. Slowly they widened, faint and dim and blurred. It was then that Sam noticed the pain-his head throbbed painfully and his left arm seemed to be on fire. His mouth was dry as ash. It was the discomfort that roused the fear in him-_where am I_?

"New kid's waking up," a voice drawled from above. Sam did not understand the meaning of these words, trying to summon the energy to move. He finally opened his eyes fully to find himself staring up at a whitewashed ceiling, the paint cracked and stained in places. He blinked, confused, tried to sit up. Panic blasted through him at the realisation-he was tied down to the hard surface he lay on, restraints tight around his wrists and ankles. He struggled to free himself but they held tight, the pain in his arm exploding outwards and he could feel himself almost hyperventilating in terror.

_Focus, Sam Winchester. Focus. You're kidnapped or something. Think-what happened? Don't panic. Whatever you do, don't panic. Winchesters don't panic_. He struggled with his sluggish mind, remembered shouting at his father, fighting...fighting with a man in a black cloak...yes! That man had been about to inject him with some drug, he had shouted out for Dean...then nothing. So the hooded man must have kidnapped him...brought him here and tied him down. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.

"He's much calmer than the last one," the other voice observed dryly. Sam had forgotten it until now-he started, tried to turn his head to look around.

"Yeah. Kenny went crazy, remember? Nearly killed himself trying to shift there on the table with the silver chains and everything..." It was a girl's voice this time. "Who's there?" Sam croaked hoarsely. "Where are we?"

"He's comprehensible much faster too," the other voice, a boy's, observed. Sam was beginning to get both scared and angry at their ignoring of his questions. "Hey! Why am I restrained? Whoever you are?"

"Take it easy," the girl's voice urged. "They always tie up the new kids. For good reason, usually."

Sam could not move his head far and both of them were out of his line of vision. "Who are you?" he repeated, now that he was no longer being ignored. "Where are we?"

"Now _there's_ a good question," the boy quipped.

"I'm serious," Sam said angrily.

"Don't panic," the girl said suddenly. "They'll drug you again, and you don't want that. We're meant to be guarding you, at least I think that's what he meant, right Jake?"

"Something like that," the boy, Jake, agreed.

"This is some kind of training camp," the girl said. "Think of it as summer school, except they're teaching us to kill, we're tortured if we try to get out and you'll never find better racial diversity anywhere else. My name is Niki Freelands, and I'll be your hostess tonight. Pleasant flight." She snickered. "Sorry, no free drinks guys. Oh, and he's Jake Talley."

"Now you're just confusing him," Jake commented.

Sam blinked at the ceiling. "We're at a _camp_? But-why?"

"Why'd you think?" Niki said cryptically. "What can you do?"

Sam was surprised. "Uh-nothing."

"Still just me, then," she said cheerfully. "You're like Jake. He doesn't know what he's doing here either."

Sam was just getting more confused by the minute. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She came into his line of sight then and he was shocked-she was far younger than he had thought, only about his own age, tall and skinny with untidy black hair falling past her shoulders, high cheekbones and dark eyes filled with defiance. "You'll find out," she said softly, suddenly gentle. "Sorry, but there's only one person can really explain, and he's gonna want to talk to you himself now you've woken up."

"Niki," Jake's voice said softly from behind. "He's here."

Niki nodded. "Good luck," she said to Sam, and turned, moving out of his sight. "Hey!" he called. "Hey, wait! Who's here? What's going on?" But he heard a door bang, and knew that Jake and Niki were gone. He just did not think that he was alone; it was more a sense than anything else. Like last time. He lay motionless, trying to think what to do, waiting for his companion to act first.

"I am glad to see that you suffer no lasting hurt," a familiar voice said. The low, cultured, oddly hollow voice of the hooded man who had kidnapped him...Sam fought down the urge of panic inside, wishing fiercely that he was not in this position, that he could face him, that he could see him...

"Who are you and what do you want from me?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm. The man came round into his line of sight then, though it did not help much since he remained hooded, and Sam could not see his face.

"You may refer to me as Commander," the man said. "And as to the rest...there is much I want from you, Sam Winchester. You are...more special than you know."

Sam scowled. He wasn't special. He was a selfish, sorry excuse for a bad son, a failure and a disappointment, and one who, also, had managed to get himself kidnapped-again. But what he would not be was the loser of this battle, however it was to be fought and whatever it meant. He would not lose.

"Look," he said. "Clearly you're mistaken. There's nothing I can do. So can you please just untie me and give me a real reason why I'm here?"

Soft laughter. "I'm not untying you, Sam. You may not know what you are capable of yet but you could still cause quite some trouble. It's lucky for both of us that you were trained as a hunter, believe me. It's going to come very much in handy...my friend Bates does have his uses after all, aside from the odd hypnotism."

_Bates is working for him? Well, that explains a lot...this guy actually does know who I am..._he shivered at the implications_. He knows about Dean and Dad and he still took me? So either he's crazy or he's just really sure that whatever he's doing with me will work out...either way it's not good_...

"What is it you want?" Sam said again, flat-voiced to try and hide his fear.

"I am in the process of forming a select group of teenagers...with certain abilities, shall we say. What I want, Sam, is your co-operation. I want you to become a member of the Darkling Guard and train in my personal army."

"You're crazy if you think I'd do that," Sam snarled, turning his face away.

"What is there for you to go back to?" the Commander asked him softly. "Your father hates you, your brother let you down. You lived a life you hated, and now that life is over. The Guard is all that is left for you."

"That's not true," Sam whispered. "My family'll find me, and they'll kill you."

The Commander straightened up. "Somehow, I don't think so." He turned to leave, swinging his long cloak after him. "I will leave you some time to think on this-"

"Wait," Sam said, suddenly struck by an idea. If he pretended to go along with this, to start training, then he would be untied, given a weapon and allowed to assess his surroundings. Be able to escape! "Wait," he said. "Okay, I'll do it."

The Commander turned back and Sam was suddenly struck by the notion that the man _must_ know what was going through his head, must understand the deception. And yet still he smiled below the cowl, and crossed the room, drawing his knife to cut the ropes tying Sam to the table.

"Welcome to the Guard, Sam Winchester," he breathed, and both were lying, and both knew that the other was doing so. War had just been declared.

…...

Sam stepped out of the door behind the Commander into the outside night and was immediately stunned. He had never seen anything like it; a huge compound ringed by a spiked wall-and a wall like none Sam had ever seen before, of some strangle silver-gold-bronze-grey coloured alloy of countless metals, and what was more it was electrified as well-with ranks of long, low wooden huts set against each one. There were also some clearly made of the same metal as the walls, like the one Sam had just come out of and judging by the cages and cells he had seen inside it-all, thankfully, currently empty-was some kind of prison block. Below the night sky the concrete and dull uniformity of the compound made for a forbidding sight, despite the darkness and the blazing torches placed around the place on tall brackets, illuminating the entire compound. But it was not this that amazed Sam-it was the _people_.

They ranged in age from children of about thirteen to young men and women who could have been twenty at least, and there must have been a hundred or more of them all at work in the enormous central yard upon which the entire compound had been constructed around. The work itself was the last thing Sam had expected-they were _training_. He could see two tiny children lunging at each other with wooden swords; not far away a boy of about his own age was practising throwing knives into a target several metres away. In fact throughout the compound every single teenager was engaged in some form of arms practise, from some kind of karate to what looked scarily like machine gunnery. Sam stared, open-mouthed-he himself had been through this kind of training already, of course, had been learning how to be a hunter, how to defend himself and his family since he was six years old. But to see so many kids, at the same time...it was disturbing. And even that was not the most shocking thing of all.

About two thirds of them were quite clearly not human.

Before his eyes he watched a little girl stop, shiver, and abruptly shrink, twist and transform into some kind of wildcat, and promptly leap on the boy she had been fighting. _Skinwalker_. Another youth, chained to a wall, gazed out through hungry red eyes at the proceedings, his enlarged and vicious teeth sprouting right out of his mouth. _Vampire_. A young woman sat cross-legged over a small fire above which was suspended a battered cauldron; she reached up to drop a pinch of something into it and green flames billowed up from inside it, eerily illuminating her skeletal face, casting demonic shadows about her sunken eyes. _Witch_. Sam was simply bowled over by this sudden rush of creatures-so many of the kids here were the exact same things he had hunted over his life, some that he had not even known existed. There were a few who looked human-he saw Jake Talley, his erstwhile guard, loading a pistol a short distance away. But most of them-his natural enemies, things he had hunted ever since he could remember. Monsters-creatures of the night.

The Commander met his amazed eyes with a cruel kind of smile. "You like my collection?" he asked Sam. "This, Sam Winchester, is the Darkling Guard."

**Niki Freelands is my OC, based on nobody except a little bit Madison from **_**Heart**_**, I guess. I hope you like her, I know OC s can sometimes be annoying but I'm going to try really hard not to let her be...and yes, the Darkling Guard is revealed! Not much happened here I know, but I hope it explained a few things…please leave me a review! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks as always for all your support!**

Chapter 8:

Dean came striding back into the house for his second load of weapons; he shot a glare at his father, who was seated sunken in thought on the mangy sofa.

"You could help," he said coldly, shouldering a duffel bag full of clinking weaponry. John looked up tiredly.

"Stop, Dean," he said dully. Dean fought back a yell of anger.

"Dammit _no_! Sam's been kidnapped and we have to find him! There's not much time!"

"Dean-" John stood up and crossed the room wearily towards his older son. "Dean, we don't have any idea where he is. Looking for him would be like-"

"So you're just going to give up before we even start?"

John sighed. "Listen to me, Dean. Think logically. Where could he have gone? Where do we start?"

"You know what?" Dean said, his anger finally exploding. "Go to hell. Why don't you tell me why you've been treating Sammy like crap these past few days? What's wrong with you? What did he do?"

"Don't you take that tone with me-"

"I'm serious! You and Sam fight all the time but ever since you got back from that last hunt you've been...different." Quite suddenly he ran out of words. "You've acted like you hate the kid, Dad, and I wanna know what's going on." He dropped the bag and folded his arms; John looked defeated, weakened.

"Sam had a vision, Dean. You do realise what that means?" His eyes were evasive; Dean was bewildered.

"So he got lucky. Or he stepped into some witch's web, that can happen right? People getting powers for a day? You can't seriously-"

"It means that he is..." John paused. "Not...who we thought he was."

Dean stared, astonished. "Are you crazy? He's exactly the same as he was before except he gets a helluva lot more nightmares about everything that happened. And-who's fault was that, may I ask? Oh yes, _you_, who never listens to him-"

"Dean, I know how much you care about him. But can't you see-" He looked pained, then suddenly turned away. "It doesn't matter. We're not going to look for him."

Dean really blew a fuse at that. "What the hell? We're not going to look for him 'cause of that one stupid vision six months ago which may not even have been a vision and saved a bunch of kids' lives? Are you crazy? Of course we're going to freakin' look for him, Goddammit he's our family!"

"Possibly," John said in a low voice.

"Are you going to tell me what's really going on or do I have to go and look for Sammy by myself? 'Cause don't think I won't-"

"Drop it, Dean. You're not going." And with that he turned and stormed out into the other room. Dean, fuming, could only stare after him in complete amazement for several minutes-then, acting on impulse, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed-dial number four.

"Bobby? Yeah, it's Dean...we have a big problem and I think I need your help..."

…...

All that was making Sam do this was the necessity of keeping up the pretence of being a good, submissive soldier until he got a chance to escape. Nothing but the promise of getting out of here could have made him do this. You did not go up against a ghoul in the guise of a man twice your size armed with nothing but a measly little knife unless you were suicidal-and yet that was exactly what he was being asked to do.

"That's insane," he told the Commander immediately. The hooded man had just smiled.

"I rarely allow recruits to be killed on their first day of training," he said. "I just want to see how you react." And he pushed Sam forwards. The ghoul smiled coldly-it had dropped all pretence of disguise. According to the Commander it was one of his best soldiers, though how the hell he had managed to control it Sam could not fathom. It was quite worrying, actually.

He faced the creature, which looked...so human, except for the blood smeared around its mouth, and the dead look in its eyes. It was immensely strong, he knew that much, and this body was that of the last person it had killed. The only way to kill it was going to be with a bullet to the head-and of course he had no gun. Apparently the Commander did not want his prize fighter dead... it was just that Sam, as a human, had about a million more vulnerabilities. He took a breath, gripping his knife tightly, certain that he was going to die-but determined not to go without a fight. The ghoul shot him an acidic smile, then lunged. Sam dodged aside and brought up the knife, missing completely as the ghoul ploughed into the sand on the other side of him. Sam focused, not taking his eyes off it as it began to circle. A group of faces whirled around them-they had an audience.

And Sam knew that the only way he could survive was if he managed to hold out long enough for the Commander to be impressed. The ghoul finally drew its own knife, tossing it casually between its hands, apparently unfazed or even bored by the wiry human boy daring to challenge it-and it charged at him again, knife sweeping down for his face. Sam blocked the blade with his own and twisted aside, aiming for the ghoul's back, but it had already whirled on him and he had to throw himself to the ground to avoid the next lunge of the knife, rolling and coming back to his feet in time to block another thrust of the blade. The ghoul looked surprised-Sam was, after all, a newbie, and maybe it wasn't used to people surviving combat with it for this long. It flung itself at him and this time he was not quite quick enough-he threw himself aside again but landed on his already injured left arm; it crumpled beneath him and he let out a cry of pain and anger-the ghoul's knife came down and he rolled beneath it, taking the blade lightly across the same arm. It hurt, but not enough to stop him. He slashed at its ankles, missed, but used the momentum to get back to his feet.

The crowd was silent, amazed. The Commander was impassive in his black robe and cowl, but even he had not expected the boy to last this long. Hunter or not, he was good.

And Sam attacked, swinging a punch at the ghoul's face. He wanted to use his other hand to wield the knife, as he had done in training with Dean and Dad, but he could not afford to trust his weakened left arm. The ghoul, surprised, backed away and Sam came on again-he felt another streak of pain somewhere below his ribcage but did not stop to inspect it, instead hitting the thing again and again with all his strength, leaping aside when it flailed for him through the blood in its eyes. He twisted behind it and reached up, jamming the knife into the side of its neck and making it roar with pain, a horribly human sounding scream; Sam drove the knife into the skin of the side of its head but before he could get it deep enough to stop the thing some strange invisible force lifted him away, flinging him hard across the yard; he hit the ground and lay still, dizzy with pain and shock. Heard the ghoul running towards him-

He looked up. It was charging down on him and he struggled to his feet, gasping, bleeding. His vision dimmed as he tried to move aside and then felt the massive strength of the ghoul's punch as it connected with his stomach and sent him flying again. This time when he hit, he did not move. He was struggling just to breathe.

"Stop!" came the Commander's authoritarian voice. "A good fight. Go." Sam heard footsteps moving away and thought he should probably get up, but he was pinned to the earth by pain and he was trying to think-what had been that force that stopped him from ramming the knife into the ghoul's head? Who had done it?

Who had wanted the ghoul to win? Only the Commander. So did he have powers of some kind? Was that how he controlled his motley army? It made sense...at least Sam thought it did. His mind was hazy and unclear, and he was no longer sure of anything. He heard footsteps and then strong hands dragging him up from the ground, supporting him when he swayed. "Dean?" he mumbled. No-wait-Dean wasn't here, he was in the camp...

"Take it easy." The voice was familiar, and as Sam struggled to get his feet underneath him he managed to focus on the face of its owner. "Jake?" he whispered. "Jake...Talley?"

"Yeah...c'mon, let's get you inside 'fore he makes you fight again..."

Whispers pursued them to the hut, voices. Sam could not make out the words. He hurt all over and he knew he was bleeding...his mind just wanted to shut down but he fought it, fought it with all his strength, unwilling to let his guard down for even a moment in this hostile, dangerous place. He felt the air change as Jake pulled him across the threshold of the hut and kicked the door closed behind him, felt himself pushed down on something that gave, a bed. He struggled not to fall backwards, hunching over and wrapping his arms around his middle. Then Jake's shadow fell across him and he forced his eyes open. The other boy was holding out a flask of some undefined liquid, eyes intent on Sam's face.

"Drink it. Trust me."

"What is it?" Sam reached out his good hand and took it, peering dubiously inside. It smelled like hell, and if there was one thing Dad had impressed upon him it was not to drink anything given him by a stranger. That wasn't even _just_ Dad's advice.

"It's pretty well all we survive on up here," Jake told him. "Takes the pain, lets you carry on. Problem is that once it's worn off you feel a helluva lot worse, but..." He shrugged. "We have to carry on. We all use it."

"Uh-no thanks." This drug sounded pretty disturbing, and Sam could not fully trust Jake yet. He passed the flask back. "I'll survive..."

"No," Jake said quietly. "You won't." He took the flask and took a sip himself, grimaced at the taste, and passed it back. "Drink," he said earnestly. "It's fine." He inspected the wounds in Sam's arm and stomach through the rips in his shirt. "You don't need stitches anyhow, so that makes it easier."

Sam drank. It sounded bad, and he knew it was a really awful idea to actually do it, but he had made his decision to act like one of the Guard until he got a chance to escape, and he was just going to have to do this. He made a face as it burned down his throat, tasting like he imagined Dean's socks might, but instantly the pain shuddering his whole body began to abate. He gasped in surprise; even the perpetually-aching bullet wound in his arm was fading in intensity. His vision cleared and he looked up at Jake.

"That's just weird..."

"Try not to get hurt," Jake told him darkly, taking the flask back and stashing it in a small hole in the wall. "It's like a drug, doesn't help the injuries at all. It's meant to be temporary I think, but..." He shrugged. "Works, huh?"

"Yeah..." Sam blinked, finally looking around the hut. It was a long wooden structure, simply built, containing only a row of beds, all made up sparsely with a couple of blankets. He had slept in much worse; it was warm in here, at least.

"Hey-they don't make us sleep with..."

Jake gave a tight smile. "Everything else? Hell no. If someone's dangerous they're on lockdown whenever they're not training."

Sam frowned. "You seem...pretty okay with it all."

"So do you," Jake countered.

"Yeah well...I'm, uh, used to it."

"I can see that. You're the first person to beat old Harry."

"Harry? The ghoul?" Sam smiled at the odd incongruity of the name. "I didn't beat him." He looked down.

"You did," Jake said. "The Commander just didn't want you to kill him so he threw you off...how did you know how to kill him anyway?"

"Like I said," Sam said with a wry smile. "I'm used to this stuff. So-does the Commander have some kind of...ability?"

"Loads," Jake said seriously. "Brings out a new one just to scare us every few weeks..."

Sam blinked. "Weeks? How long have you been here?"

Jake considered. "About...four, five months now? S'why I'm okay with all the monsters, yeah..."

Sam stifled a groan of dismay. "Did you never try to escape?"

"All the time at the beginning," Jake replied. "It's useless. Best just to...accept it and fight your hardest. Less pain. Nothing you can do."

"Don't you have a family you miss?"

"Yeah. Mom. And my kid sister. But we're told we can see our families again once we prove our loyalty. Only the elite...and only the humans, usually." He shrugged. "Don't know why I'm here. He picks the kids for their strengths, y'know? Powers, abilities...Harry, the vampires, shifters...that's why they're here. Me, I'm nothing special."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. "Me neither." _And I'm not staying here. Maybe you can accept this but I will not. I'm getting out, and I'm going to find Dean again..._

"You can fight, though," Jake pointed out. "Maybe that's why."

"Trust me," Sam said. "Where I come from, I'm nothing."

"Who cares?" Jake said. "If you can already fight you get to the top quicker, and then..."

"Then?"

He shrugged. "Don't know for sure, but we leave this place, anyhow."

At that moment the door to the hut opened with a creak and a figure stepped through. Sam and Jake both looked up; Jake smiled and Sam frowned. He knew this girl...then it struck him- Niki Freelands, Jake's friend from when he had been tied up.

"Hey," she said, striding forwards sheathing the sword she had been carrying, and dropping down on the bed beside Sam. "You're okay, right? Jake gave you some of our magic juice?"

"Yeah, I'm fine..."

"Where the hell did you learn to fight like that? And going for the head? How did you know? They never tell us how to kill the things, I only know 'cause..." She stopped. "Who _are_ you, Sam?"

He shot her a wary glance. She was just as he remembered her, just muddier and with a few streaks of blood crossing her cheek, her hair untidy. Unwillingly he realised that she was extremely pretty.

"Uh-"

"You some kind of soldier?" she prompted.

"Something like that."

"You're human, right?"

It amazed him how she was so matter-of-fact about the question. "Yeah, I'm human."

"Well you should take care of yourself," she told him earnestly. "The Commander's interested in you, and I don't know about Jake here but I don't think the kids who beat the rest ever go any place good."

"We see our families, Niki," Jake sighed. She shrugged.

"I don't know what they're going do with us. But I don't think it's what they say. The kids they take you never see again."

**Bear with me about John, things will change very soon, I promise! And I hope you like the presence of…Jake…any feedback is much appreciated!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Yay I have an early update! And I even finished all my homework too! (does a little dance) (sorry…)…:-)**

Chapter 9:

Sam entered the big refectory behind Jake and Niki the next evening, feeling wary and afraid, not to mention tired-it was going to take some time to get used to this nocturnal lifestyle. It just seemed so bizarrely wrong and stupid to willingly and voluntarily go strolling into a roomful of the things he had hunted all his life-especially a room where they were all eating. It was fairly disgusting, actually. The few humans in the room were seated at a small table at the back of the refectory, eating what looked thankfully like a normal kind of soup-the rest of the room, however, was taken up by things eating...whatever they wanted to. He could see a couple of girls tearing into huge slabs of raw, bloody meat-he didn't think he even wanted to know what they were, the girls themselves or their food.

Eyes looked up with hostile glares as they passed, and Sam looked down, tried to not to catch anyone's gaze. He wasn't exactly inconspicuous at this point; the newbie who had almost beaten Harry, the Commander's champion. Everyone knew who he was, and he highly doubted that it was a good thing. He followed Jake and Niki swiftly towards the back of the room, when there was a scraping of chairs and a voice called out harshly- "Hey. Winchester."

Sam cursed inwardly and looked up. A tall boy had pushed between him and his friends and stood there staring down with an expression of utter hatred. Sam met his eyes defiantly, not knowing who he was or what he was doing, only that he would not show any fear. The other boy was a few inches taller than him and probably more muscular; his face looked cold and oddly wild, patterned with red scratches, and his wispy moustache was a menacing shadow crossing his mouth and nose.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked coolly. The boy gave an animalistic snarl and pushed towards him. Jake looked as if he was about to step in, but Sam shot him a quelling look.

"Damn right there's a problem, Winchester," the boy hissed, hatred blazing in his eyes. "You and your family _killed my father_ last year. You remember?"

Sam had never seen this boy before in his life, but his story sounded realistic. His family had killed a lot of things last year, though-he did not even know what this boy was.

"No," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Now he was in big trouble. "Who are you?"

"Freakin' arrogant hunters-" His face twisted in a scowl. "Banner. Richard Banner. You remember my father?" The word _hunter_ had gone spinning across the room like ripples of a stone in a pond, whispers repeating, answering, echoing. Sam was so sure that he had not wanted anyone to know who he was...but he did recognise the name of Banner.

"Your Dad was a werewolf," he said suddenly. "In Minnesota. He'd killed...six or seven innocent people by the time we found him." He was beginning to understand. "Oh, God. He bit you, didn't he."

Richard growled. "That's right, Winchester. And now I'm gonna tear you apart for what your family did to my dad..."

Sam wanted to run. He did not want a fight with a werewolf right now-he'd only beaten Harry with a lot of luck and after being seriously underestimated. He doubted he could do it again.

"Look," he said, trying to make peace. "Your dad was a murderer. He couldn't control himself and he was just hurting people. We had to save their lives. Can't you see-"

"You scared or something, Winchester?"

Sam's pride rebelled. "No. I just don't want to fight you."

"Then you'll go down bloody without defending yourself?" Richard snickered. "A hunter who won't fight. Seriously?"

"I didn't say I _wouldn't_ fight," Sam said, very quietly.

…...

Bobby Singer slammed the cab door of his truck closed and came striding up towards the house, his step purposeful. John Winchester was his friend and his comrade, but he could be one stupid sonuvab*tch, and this time he had gone too far. He hammered on the door with its flaking paint, in no mood to wait around, and when John opened the door he yelled right into his face: "_What the hell d'you think you're playing at refusing to look for that boy_?"

John's face fell. "I guess Dean called you."

"And thank God he did, d'you want to explain what's going on here?" Bobby snarled. "Or do I have to force you at gunpoint to go and find your own kid?"

"We have no idea where he's gone-"

"Did you bother trying anything? Let me in the damn house, it's freezing out here." He pushed past John into the old building, wrinkling his nose at the sour smell. Dean came down the stairs at that moment with a tight smile.

"Hey Bobby. I thought I heard your voice."

"Any leads on where Sam could've gone?"

Dean shrugged. "Old loony in the village thinks she saw a shadow fly South across the moon the same night."

"That's something," Bobby agreed.

"No it's not!" Dean protested in sudden anguish. "The woman's insane. She's over eighty, keeps a goat that sleeps on her sofa and her house stinks of tequila. It's just wrong." He turned away, slamming his fist into the faded paper coating the walls of the stairwell. "It's so _useless_!"

Bobby stared at the boy in dismay, noting the tenseness of his shoulders, the pain and worry in his green eyes. "Come on, kid, you can't give up that easily. There could be some truth in her story. We can go South."

"What's the point?" Dean demanded, voice raw with pain. "We're never going to find Sam. Dammit, last time Dad knew where the hell he'd gone. Last time I told myself I wouldn't let this ever happen again, Bobby!"

"That's true, your Dad knew..." Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Dean-you told me the doctor was a friend of John's. Surely he'd have some contacts we can talk to?"

Dean's face suddenly brightened. "Hey, that's true...if you can get him to talk."

John was still standing motionless behind them, face closed, apparently unaware of the fact that they were even speaking of him. Bobby gave a wry smile.

"Boy, who's the one person you think can get your dad to spill?"

…...

Sam could not believe he had gotten himself into this. This time someone didn't just want to ascertain his abilities-they wanted him dead. He had no weapon that was going to harm a werewolf, nothing that could save his life.

He was in trouble.

Richard apparently wanted the fight right here and now in the middle of the refectory-Sam tried to work out if that was a good or a bad thing, but his mind was blank. He had no weapon but his clasp knife, given back to him by the Commander after his almost-victory with Harry. And that was going to be about as much use as a paper plane right now.

He could not harm Richard with anything other than silver. That was the thing about werewolves-they transformed on the night of the full moon alone, but they could train to pass the strength, speed and protections of their wolf forms onto their human shapes the rest of the month. Richard had clearly done this training. Sam could cut him but he knew that the other boy would not feel the pain, also that the wound would heal in moments, and that was only if he was able to get past his defences, which was doubtful.

So, he was doomed.

"Hey," he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice. "You've got weapons that can hurt me. How about you let me have silver, to make it fair?"

Richard sneered. "Why the hell would I want to make it fair, Winchester?" He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Sam knew that he was going to die, that he was never going to get out or see Dean again-

"Stop. _Stop_!"

Richard stopped, scowled, turned. Sam looked up, unwilling to take his eyes off his unpredictable opponent, but eager to see what was happening. Niki was pushing to the front of the crowd, her customary sword in her hand, anger in her dark eyes. "Just stop it!" she commanded. "Richard, dump your issues somewhere else. I'll go to the Commander if you two even look at each other wrong, you hear?"

"Niki-" Sam began, unsure of what he was going to say. She held up a hand to silence him, still glaring at Richard.

"You get me?"

"Stop poking your nose where it doesn't belong, b*tch," Richard muttered. She raised her chin, flicking back the locks of dark hair falling across her face.

"Sorry, I didn't quite get that."

"Here it is again, then," Richard snarled suddenly, and he leaped at Niki with a sudden terrifying wolflike grace. Sam jumped forwards, not even sure what he was going to do, only that he could not leave her to face the werewolf alone-a snick of metal, a howl, and suddenly Richard was down on the ground, writhing in pain around a narrow gash through his side. Niki had moved with lightning speed, her sword cutting right through his leather jacket, and now she stood over him holding her bloodstained sword loosely, a ferocious look in her dark eyes.

"You get me?" she repeated. Richard spat blood and scowled, getting to his hands and knees. She kicked him back down and he groaned.

"Fine, you crazy little-" He struggled to his feet hunched over against his wound, and began to stumble away in the direction of his hut. Niki watched him go with an expression of contempt, then turned to Sam.

"Stay away from him," she ordered, and strode away.

…...

Sam found her later, cleaning her blade in the hut she shared with four other girls, but alone. He knocked softly on the half-open door, and she looked up, then looked down again. He stood awkwardly where he was until she glanced up again. An expression of surprise flitted across her pretty face as she saw him still standing there.

"Well, come in then."

Sam did as he was bid, uncertain. "I just...uh, I wanted to say thank you," he said uneasily. "He would've killed me..."

"He's a bonehead," she said carelessly, setting aside the cloth she had been using on her sword. He smiled.

"You must've been here a while, if you can fight like that."

"Only a few weeks," she admitted, a slightly desolate look entering her eyes, gesturing for him to sit on the bed beside her. "I'm going to get out, Sam. I'm not giving up like Jake is. I'm getting out before they change me."

"Same here," he said quietly. "I have a brother, right, and he'll be looking for me. I know he will. He'll come for us...there's nowhere here where I can get a phone, is there?"

She shook her head, looping her dark hair behind her ear. "Not that you can get to..."

"What does that mean?"

She shrugged. "The Commander had a phone in his office but it's impossible to get in there, trust me."

Sam was already scanning through strategies in his mind. "Might not be impossible," he mused. "If I could come up with a diversion..."

"Sam, it's suicide. Trust me."

He did not think so, and he intended to try it, but he let it go. "So how did you learn to do that?" he asked. "Fight like that?"

She gave a short laugh. "I'm...different is all...my father taught me to fight, in case I had to...protect myself. Didn't get me far, though..."

"Me neither," Sam mumbled. "I'm just a failure. Bet my dad doesn't even want to find me..."

"He will," Niki insisted. "And you're not a failure. The Commander trapped every one of us here. The humans just don't have the same powers."

Sam shrugged. "What about you? Won't your parents be looking?"

"No," Niki said quietly. "They won't. They're dead."

Sam felt guilt wash through him. "Oh no, I'm so sorry..."

"It was a long time ago," she muttered. "It's okay. I learned to survive on my own."

"What happened?" Sam asked in a whisper. "Or d'you not want to talk about it?"

She suddenly looked up. "Huh? No..." She shook her head and jumped to her feet. "There's no time for this. We should both be out there training." Her tone was businesslike, distant again. She would not meet his eyes. He nodded, silenced, and stood up after her. Together, silently, they exited the hut to face the torchlit compound beyond once more.

They were struck by the horrific scene like a hammer blow.

Directly in front of the hut, a body lay in a pool of congealing blood, head tipped back and throat ripped apart. One arm had been torn off completely, revealing a shatter of bloody bones and scraps of muscle. Crouched over the corpse was hunched a dim, shadowy figure, long hair spilling into the blood, hands stained ghoulishly red. As Sam and Niki watched she turned her head to reveal the mouthful of bristling fangs, the smearing of blood and flesh across an otherwise pleasant face.

Before the grisly scene stood the Commander, and he was applauding. "Well done, Isabel," he intoned in his cold, utterly emotionless voice. "A good fight."

The young vampire dipped her head in thanks for his praise, and then buried her face in the corpse's throat once more.

Sam turned to look at Niki and saw his own shock and horror reflected in her face, hardening slowly into a kind of angry resolve. She returned his gaze and there was a new steel in her thin face.

"You got a plan to get at that phone and call your brother?" she asked with a kind of desperate intensity. "Well, I'm in."

**Hope you like it! Please leave me a review! Also feel free to complain about Niki if you want to, I'm not great at writing OCs…**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm so sorry for the long delay, I know I said I'd post at least once a week but it's been crazy how much homework I've had…I'm really sorry! Anyway, here's the next chapter…warning-Sam gets hurt in this one.**

Chapter 10 :

"According to his cellphone' GPS history your friend Dr Bates has been all over the place in the past few months," Bobby told Dean. They were standing in the sitting room of Dr Bates' house and having got the number from John, Bobby had just managed to track everywhere the scientist's cellphone had been for the past three months. Dean leaned over, scanning the computer screen.

"They're mostly in cities," he noted. "There's two locations in Manhattan, one right over there in New Mexico…this guy's been everywhere." He frowned. "You think it's more likely he'd have taken Sam to a city where they'd be anonymous or some wilderness?"

"Well right now the phone at least is in some forest in Maine," Bobby said. "We can start there at any rate…" He turned to glare at John. "And you'll be coming with us."

John looked, just for an instant, like a guilty child, startling Dean, who clearly remembered Sam sporting the exact same expression at some point-then the older hunter lifted his head. "I don't believe I said I wouldn't come if you two could find the kid," he snapped. "Time we made tracks. C'mon, Dean-"

"I'll be right behind you," Bobby said. "Time we found Sam."

…..

Sam peered out from beyond the hut, watching for the moment. Niki and Richard stood facing each other in the centre of the yard, apparently trading insults. Sam bit his lip, hoping against hope that she would be all right-if the plan went accordingly, she would never even have to engage…but still, he had wanted to be the one to provoke Richard.

"You can't," Niki had told him. "You're the only one knows who to call…and besides, you're just trying to protect me, and I don't need that."

But it felt wrong, letting her do this…

He caught sight of Jake's dark figure racing towards the Commander's office and inched forward, keeping to the shadows between huts, eyes fixed on the two still stationary figures-even as he watched, though, Richard was beginning to circle. He came to the corner before reaching the Commander's block and fell into a crouch, shoving his overlong hair out of his face. "Come on, Jake," he whispered involuntarily. "Come on…" He was going to have maybe five minutes and he just had to pray that it would be enough. There was no other way of getting the Commander out of his office…yes! There! Jake was running back, following the tall, hooded figure of their captor-it was time. He rose to his feet and ran like a streak of light for the door to the main hut. It was not locked, thank God-probably the Commander assumed that no-one would actually be insane enough to try this. Sam grimaced-whatever that said about him and his plan. He slipped through the door and closed it noiselessly behind him.

The little room beyond was unlit, and Sam pulled a flashlight borrowed from the equipment pile from his pocket and shone it around. He saw a desk that seemed to have been formed of a single large block of wood, black tallow candles that had clearly never been lit punctuating its four rough corners. A dark curtain obscured the far wall-Sam longed suddenly to pull it aside and see what lay beyond, but he held back-he did not have much time. He scanned the room swiftly, eyes open wide, desperate in the faint beam of light, desperate that this had not been a false rumour, that there really was a phone…there! Shadowy in the darkness, on the edge of the desk, an old, heavy cellphone, oddly incongruous in the present setting. Sam snatched it up and within a few seconds had hacked its PIN-Dad had taught him how to do that years ago. Fingers shaking he dialled Dean's number, switching off his flashlight and shoving it back into his sweater in case he had to run-

…..

Dean was driving the Impala, staring hard at Bobby's taillights ahead when his cellphone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up, flipped it open and frowned-he did not know the number. Puzzled he held it to his ear, glancing at his father beside him, who barely glanced at him. He was angry, but Dean did not care.

"Uh-this is Dean Winchester and if you're a girl I've probably moved on-"

"Dean!" came the voice, instantly recognisable, sending a jolt of shock through Dean's entire body. He jerked up and sat forwards, listening intently.

"Sam? Sammy, that you?" He could not believe it-not after all this. John glanced over at him suddenly, intently, eyes suddenly sharp. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Don't know," came Sam's voice, low and hurried and strained, filled with fear. "Listen, I'm in a camp, I've borrowed this phone but I don't have long-it's a camp for kids who can do things, Bates is just an accomplice, there's this guy the Commander who's in charge, he kidnapped me and most of the others here, you have to get here Dean, trace the call or something, people are dying!"

"What d'you mean, _do things_? What are you talking about? Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so, I don't know either, be careful-hell!" The sudden exclamation, followed by a cry of pain, had Dean yelling down the phone, the shock and panic in Sam's voice the worst thing he had ever heard. The line went dead but he continued shouting his brother's name, desperately-tried to call back but in vain. Trembling, panicking, he turned to his father.

"We have to find the GPS on this phone number. Now! Sam's in trouble!"

…..

Sam was jerked violently away from the phone by the strong hands reaching out, and he fell with a cry of shock. He twisted round and tried to lash out at whoever was holding him-the Commander! He cursed inwardly, and fought harder to tear the iron grip off his shoulders. The Commander just looked at him with an icy coldness and sadistic interest.

"Sam. You didn't really think I would be fool enough to just let you break in?"

Sam tore away and backed up behind the desk, eyes flicking to the door in desperation, wondering if he could make it if he tried to run. But where would he go? The Commander advanced slowly, calm and collected as a judge, and as difficult to read in his concealing cowl.

"Sam. Do you really want to leave here so badly? When you know your family hate you and your life is so far from what you desire? Would you really betray me?"

Sam said nothing. He knew he was not going to be able to get out of this and anything he said could be used against him. He was going to have to talk fast if he wanted to survive-but his mind was a blank. He could only stare at his kidnapper, terrified, racking his brains for something, anything-

"You're lucky that you are so useful to me, Sam," the Commander said ominously. "And that you are new, of course. I always try to make allowances for new recruits. But you must see that you will have to be punished. I can't let the others think that I am…acceptable…for this kind of thing."

Sam threw caution to the winds in that moment. He felt, recklessly, that he had nothing left to lose right then.

"Do what you want with me," he hissed in fury. "I'll never do what you want."

The Commander nodded slowly. "Very well." And he moved like lightning-Sam tried to run but there was no time, no time to do anything but try to shield his head as the black streak bore down on him. He saw a flash of white light, and then nothing more. His last thought was that he prayed Dean would find him soon, before it was too late.

…..

A man was kneeling at a crossroads: below him, the dirt was scuffed and untidy, as though it had just been dug up and then put back. The man rose to his feet, head still lowered: he was dressed in a suit and tie; his cropped black hair a shadow bruising the top of his head. Suddenly he turned-standing behind him was a young, beautiful woman, whose black curls tumbled about her shoulders; her dark dress clung to her figure. And her eyes flashed red.

The man lifted his head to meet her gaze. There was no sound as they spoke-not even the sound of the wind rustling through the woman's hair. Sam, watching, somehow nowhere and everywhere at once, could hear only a strange rushing noise, like water, breakers on a seashore. The man nodded to the woman and a smile crossed her face: she stepped close and then they were kissing deeply and passionately-

She vanished, like smoke in the wind. The man, left alone, glanced furtively about him, then turned and hurried away down the road.

Sam saw him again, striding down a narrow country path. He looked several years older, and he was better dressed, but his eyes were sunken and hollow, darting madly about, as if he believed himself watched. He began to run, shined shoes splashing through the mud, running until he reached a small cottage looming out of nowhere. He hurried to the door, unlocked it-then placed the palm of his hand against it and allowed it to glow bright white for an instant. The door swung open and Sam saw a line of salt across the threshold. The man stepped inside-all was dark and shadowy-he seemed to have no electric light. As he passed a mirror he paused and his face grew horrified-his reflection spun and twisted, stretching ghoulishly, like a devil's face, a warped and mangled mess of himself. He turned away with a silent cry and shoved on through the darkness of his house.

He was crouching on the floor in a lightless room, breathing hard. His eyes were narrow and desperate. On the carpet beneath him lay a long, dark swathe of material; he was drawing runes and shapes on it with a piece of white chalk. Having finished this, the dark material seeming to glow with the white symbols, as if they were enchanted, he raised it high and seemed to be intoning words over it. As Sam watched, flames blazed through the cloth, engulfing it in fire, from nowhere, but the man did not relinquish his hold on it, though his face was screwed up in fear. He held it tightly until the fire had burned itself out, and the fabric was visible again-amazingly, not charred, nor burned in any way. Perfect, dead black-only the white chalk symbols were gone. The man finally smiled, and swung the fabric about him-only now did Sam realise that it was some kind of cloak. He wrapped it around himself, then drew the hood up around his head, until he was concealed utterly inside it. His eyes seemed to flash momentarily red from deep beneath the cowl-and then he turned away once more.

Sam woke, disoriented and panicked. Instantly he was aware of the pain, shooting through every fibre of his body, as if he was being tortured in the electric chair. His eyes snapped open and he bit back a scream. He remembered.

He was suspended above the camp, bound vertically to one of the walls, spread-eagled as if crucified, arms pulled so wide his shoulders cracked, his legs and neck held in place by iron cuffs in the wall. He was at least ten feet up the wall, looking down on the camp from above, the very touch of the metal behind him seeming to burn right through him. He fought not to panic, telling himself that he would not burn up, it was only metal, that his arms would not fall off-he gasped for air, breathing constricted by the cuff around his throat and the pressure of gravity on his chest. Terror surged through him-this was his punishment.

It was daylight-he had not seen the camp in the light of the sun before, and all was quiet, deserted. The sun beat down with surprising strength and he felt its heat force his head down. He was still clothed, but his shirt was torn and tattered and he could feel the skin of his shoulders flaking away with sunburn. His entire body ached and pulsed with pain-he was thirsty, he realised suddenly. Horribly thirsty.

He wanted to scream, cry like a child. He wanted to be five years old again, Dean hugging him, telling him that monsters weren't real, that he was going to take care of him. Not bound so high up to a wall of fire, in such pain, such agony, unable to believe things could have gone so badly wrong. His body was in denial of his own suffering.

How long? he wondered desperately. How long are they gonna leave me like this? Am I going to die up here? He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming, trying to summon his fading courage. How much can I take?

He just hung there, defeated, trying to breathe. Trying to believe that he would be all right. Trying, hopelessly, to keep fighting.

**John, Dean and Bobby are on their way! And I hope Sam's dream might have illuminated a few things…**

**Please review, it'll make my day! :-) **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for your reviews!**

Chapter 11:

Sam gauged the passing time with difficulty-he saw night fall and the rest of the Guard awaken and begin training, many pointing up at him, staring and whispering. Niki came below at one point and seemed to be shouting something up to him but he could not make it out-he was just glad that she had not been punished. Apparently the Commander had seen fit to make an example of only the leader of the operation…but he could not understand her. There was a strange buzzing filling his ears, his entire body was tormented with a burning thirst and sometimes he drifted into delirium. He thought he saw Dean once, apparently floating in mid-air, one minute undoing the bonds fusing him to the wall, the next stabbing into his flesh with red-hot knives of fire.

It was this state of delirium that made it so hard to tell how long he had been up here-he saw the dusk and the next dawn, but he was disorientated and kept slipping into a hazy, fragmented dream world, only to be shocked back to reality by a jolt of pain or a voice yelling his name. He thought it was roughly thirty hours he had up there, pinned to the wall, but it seemed like days. A whole separate world, in fact, where he knew nothing but pain.

Finally, after many hours, he felt hands pulling him away from the wall, supporting him as they released the bonds. He fell into them, unable to open his eyes and see who it might be-unable to do anything but fall at that point. He could not feel his arms any longer-it was hard to breathe. Whoever it was was dragging him away from the wall seemed unaffected by his weight-Sam did not even stop to wonder how it was that they had reached him so high up. Later he would realise that it must have been the Commander, since none other had such strength and ability, but at the time he was aware of nothing more than blacking out in mid-air.

He was roused by Jake's voice calling his name and cracked open his eyes. The ceiling of the hut swam sickeningly above him and he closed them again. Another voice joined Jake's.

"C'mon, Sam, you gotta wake up and drink-" Niki. Drink-that meant water, right? He opened his eyes again, suddenly aware of searing pain shooting through his arms. He felt as if he had been crucified. His back was on fire-literally, it felt. He choked on pain. A cold metal flask was put to his lips and he drank-he could have wept in frustration that it was not water but their strange magic drug. Moments later, however, his vision was clearing and the pain diminishing. He focused on Niki's worried face above him and managed to sit up.

_It is so not good that you stop feeling how much pain you're in…with this stuff you could be dying and not realise you were hurt till your heart stopped…that's probably the point_. He grimaced at the bitter taste of both drink and truth. He had accumulated injuries enough over his days at the camp, and he knew that they were probably getting infected, needed treatment, anything…but he did not feel them, thanks to this increasingly-disturbing drug. If the effects hit hard later on he was headed for serious trouble.

"Are you okay?" Niki demanded, her eyes wide with concern. "I've never seen him leave someone up there for so long, I couldn't believe…"

"I'm okay now," Sam said softly. "You? He didn't punish either one of you, did he?"

"No," Jake said. "I think he thinks we're…submissive enough as we are. He's trying to break you."

"Well, he's not going to succeed. I'm still getting out." He swung his legs off the bed, trying not to be afraid. He tried to smile reassuringly at Niki.

"You have _another_ fantastic plan?" Jake said sardonically. "You have a death wish or something?"

"No," Sam replied. "I just won't stay here. And no I don't have a plan yet, but I will. Soon."

Niki looked sceptical. "I'm with you, Sam, but next time we have to be more careful. Okay?"

He nodded. Jake stood up. "We should head out," he said, his face expressionless. "We need to get some training in before it gets light." He strode out, clearly angry. Sam watched him go a little ruefully and Niki laid a hand on his arm.

"He's scared," she said. "That's all. You can see why, huh?"

"Yeah. But…" Sam made a vague, frustrated motion. When Niki leaned forwards strands of untidy black hair fell into her eyes-he was struck by a sudden desire to brush them away, and looked down quickly. Her hand moved down his arm to his hand, clasping it in a gesture of friendship and he felt her touch right up his arm through his blood. He looked over at her, puzzled, a little wary.

"I'm not giving up on you," she told him earnestly, quietly, as if it were a secret intended only for him. Then she lifted her head and kissed him gently on the cheek before rising and picking up her sword.

"C'mon, Sam," she said. "We got some ass-kicking to do."

….

The night roared past like a tangible, immense, living monster, studded with stars devoid of any hope or beauty. Somewhere under this vast sky Sam was alive, Dean knew it. Somewhere in the entirety of the world. He was seated in the driver's seat of the Impala, hands white on the steering wheel, his father beside him, silent and morose. Ahead the tail lights of Bobby's truck flickered red and white-these reminders of the presence of two of the people he loved most in the world were not enough to quell Dean's feeling of utter, yawning aloneness.

"Dean." John's voice was carefully expressionless, as if preparing to gauge his son's reaction to his words before choosing a viewpoint of his own. Dean glanced at him, then returned his attention to the road.

"Yeah?"

"Dean, I need you to know that I do care about your brother."

Dean made a small jerking motion of acknowledgement with his head.

"Bu things are more complicated than you know…but I want to find Sammy as much as you do."

Dean wasn't so sure about that-it seemed difficult to believe that anyone else could ever have such an ache inside their hearts, such an all-consuming terror and yet driving resolve not to fail now, such an emptiness where his baby brother should have been. Not even his father. What Dean was feeling inside he was certain had never been felt before, at least not in such intensity. Sure, Bobby was going crazy with worry over Sam's disappearance: he just wouldn't be destroyed from the inside out if the worst should happen. And as for Dad…well, Dean wasn't going to just _accept_ everything he said, since he hadn't even wanted to start this crusade in the first place.

"But I want you to think about something," John was saying. "And I'm sorry. But you need to accept the possibility that we might not find Sam, or that we might find him-" Dean swerved violently, drowning out his father's final word with a screech of tortured tyres. "No," he snapped, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "No."

"But…Dean…you say…you heard him…scream? Dragged away from the phone?"

Dean felt panic building within, and he scowled to hide the encroaching madness of anguish that threatened to break out of him. "He'll be all right," he said, very quietly. "He has to be. I they've kept him alive this long they won't just…"

John turned sympathetically to his son, tense and hunched in the passenger seat beside him, and there was a softening in his eyes, as if he had decided that continuing in this vein would get them nowhere right now. "We should change seats," he said. "Let me drive, you need to get some sleep," he said. "We've a long way to go yet…"

Dean shook his head violently. "Can't sleep without Sammy safe," he muttered-nor could he for a moment relax his attention from proactively doing something to make that possible, in this case just continuing to drive. John felt a profound fear and love well up inside him in that moment-for both his sons, their fiercely close bond and all that they shared-either would give his life for the other in a heartbeat and had known since their early childhood that they would, and that was not exactly a regular sort of feeling. This bond was not something just anyone could have-Sam and Dean Winchester were somehow special. And in that moment John was just glad that his sons would always be able to count on each other, no matter what.

Even if Sam was…what he feared.

"You're no good to Sam exhausted," he told Dean. But the twenty-one year old just shrugged tensely and did not take his eyes off the stretching tunnel of the empty, lonely road ahead that he could only pray would lead him eventually to the little brother he would give his life and soul to protect, if only he could.

….

Sam spent that night watching every single member of the Darkling Guard as closely as he could, scanning the walls and gates for some form of weakness, and wrestling with the human sluggishness of his own mind in a desperate attempt to think of a way out. He trained with Niki, with Jake, with several others, and yet all the time he was on guard. Some stared at him warily, confusedly-who was this new boy with such talents in fighting and the courage or stupidity to so challenge to the Commander? Most, however, in particular the non-humans, simply ignored him.

He had been paired with a young vampire boy a few hours past midnight, and for a while they merely circled each other, eyes locked. The vampire had clear instructions to neither kill or turn Sam, but it was not especially reassuring-apart from the possibility that he might lose control of his bloodlust, there was always the fact that his orders did not rule out maim, throw, smash, tear up, seriously injure or anything else. However, after a few minutes more of circling, the boy drew close to Sam and whispered: "You're planning to escape? Take me with you."

Sam stared at him. "What?"

The boy looked desperate. "I swear, I never killed anybody! If you get me out of here before they take me away I will never kill anyone in my life, you hear me? Ever!"

Sam felt as if he was stepping off a precipice. "You mean that?" he said cautiously. "If I get you out of here you won't ever kill a human being? How do I know you're not lying?"

There was wild terror in the boy's eyes. "I _swear_!"

Sam knew what his father would want him to do. If he freed this boy he would be taking a huge risk at the expense of humankind-a vampire could do enormous damage. But if he could, by doing this, save an innocent and accept the promise that he would forever remain so? Essentially-save a soul? Dad would say-_it's not an innocent, Sam. It's a monster_. But yet-he had not asked to become a vampire, had he? Surely, this was the right thing to do. There was verity in his eyes, not just fear-there was courage.

"I don't have a plan yet," Sam admitted quietly. "I'm working on it. But if you give me your word, I will take you with me."

The boy's eyes lit up with relief and gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you, thank-" He took a breath. "If there is _anything_ I can do-"

"No," Sam replied, trying to smile. "Just…don't kill anyone. What's your name?"

"Mark. Mark Tymon."

Sam held out his hand. "Sam Winchester," he returned. And, hesitantly, wonderingly, Mark took his hand, cementing his promise.

….

Sam was returning to his hut that morning, weary and bloodstained, under the faint grey of the dawn, when he heard the voice calling his name. He turned, then smiled. Niki was seated on the ground in the shadows behind her own hut, staring over at him. He changed course and hurried towards her.

"Hey." He dropped to the ground beside her, acutely aware of his arm brushing hers as he did so. She made no sign of having noticed-when he looked closer, he saw that her face was wet with tears and that anger was alight in her bright eyes.

"Hey, Niki, what's wrong? What happened?" Suddenly seeing her cry was the worst thing that could happen-suddenly he felt her pain within himself. He reached out impulsively and took her hand in his own, a wordless comfort. "Niki, please tell me. What happened to you?"

She turned her head to look at him, and he had never seen anyone more beautiful or more tortured in that moment. "You're a hunter," she said a little thickly, then took a breath and tried again. "You're a hunter. Like Richard said. You think I didn't know what that was?"

"I thought maybe you were one too," Sam admitted. "The fighting, and knowing about…everything…"

She gave a kind of broken laugh. "Me, a hunter. That's funny. Thing is, Sam, I wanted to believe…"

He was bewildered; his heart was pounding. "What? What is it?"

"You're a nice guy, Sam. I mean _really_ nice. I've never known anyone like you. You're so brave and kind I wouldn't have _believed_…I didn't think anyone could be like you, least of all a hunter. But you see-my father was killed by hunters. And my mother, my whole family."

He stared. "But…but why?"

She lifted her chin, a defiant pride blazing in her sky-blue eyes. "Why do most hunters kill things, Sam? Because they're _monsters_. Why d'you think I'm here in the first place?" The sun was rising behind her-he could see the rays of blue and pink streaking across the deep-grey sky, like glimpses past the darkness of the world into heaven. He could not take his eyes off her, stunned.

"You're…"

She was not listening, ploughing on with the horror of her story. "When I was a kid my father got into some nasty stuff. Satanist cults, crazy stuff. One of them wasn't just crap, though, it was the real thing. And my Dad was stupid enough to take part in one of their mad rituals." She took a breath, her eyes tightening. "They…changed him. Witchcraft of some kind…my mother too. She'd only come along to try and protect him. They became…different. Inhuman. They had bound themselves to the cult and they had lost…their humanity. The cult demanded to see me and they had no choice. They brought me before them. I was about eight years old. And…" She closed her eyes now, lost in the torrent of memories, riding them like a wave and fighting not to be submerged. "They changed me. No effects, they said, not till her eighteenth birthday. They're sick people. And when I turn eighteen, Sam, I will turn into something. I will lose my human body, lose my soul. I will become…' She gave a harsh laugh. "I guess you've heard of a shtriga, being a hunter? I will become something very much like that. I won't be able to stop myself. And that's why hunters killed my parents, because that was what they were. I learned to fight to defend myself from people like you, and you from people like me. I'm only alive because I was normal at the time, because the hunter who killed my parents didn't think I was a threat. Normal until I turn eighteen, in five months time."

She finally looked up, opening her eyes and staring at him with a mixture of despair and defiance. "So judge me, hunter."

Sam was speechless. To grow up like this, so broken, so alone. To grow up knowing that time was running out before you would become something so terrible, lose yourself…before you would, inevitably, face a destiny worse than death. He could barely envisage the horror of Niki's life. He could not believe that the world could be so cruel-she was an innocent, never having done anything to deserve this. Her life would be over before it had even begun.

It was only after his shock at her story began to abate that he realised what it meant for him-she had less than six months as a human, before she would become an uncontrollable monster. And he was a hunter-his job was to kill creatures like her. He stared at her, mute with horror at the sheer cruelty of the world, of the situation.

"No," he said at last. "No, there has to be a way. There has to be a way to save you."

"There isn't," she said quietly. "I've spent over seventeen years searching for a way out, Sam. There's nothing." She suddenly gave a grim smile. "That's not quite true. I already decided-the night before I turn eighteen, I am going to kill myself, before I can become…that. Before I can hurt anyone." Her face was set and hard, like marble in the light of the rising sun. "I accepted it a long time ago, Sam. It's the only way. I'm telling you this because you have to decide right now if you could take something like me out of the camp. If you could ever trust me." Her smile suddenly softened and just for an instant she was a young girl, forlorn, not a driven warrior with the weight of a terrible destiny crushing her into the earth. "You need to decide, Sam. Because of how I know you feel about me, and how I feel about you."

And suddenly nothing else mattered. Not the future, not the past, not Dad and his training, not the Commander or the terrible danger they were in at that very moment. Only the fact that she had just acknowledged what they felt for each other and that she was watching him while the rays of fresh golden light fell into her face, and that he was not going to give up on her, that he never could.

"I'm going to save you," he said determinedly. "I'll find a way. I'm getting out and taking you with me, and we'll find a way. I promise."

And right then as the sun finally blazed above her head she kissed him. As he had shaken hands with Mark, right now they were cementing their promise to each other.

Okay-I hope this is not too messed up or annoying. I'm not great at writing this kind of scene, didn't even know I was going to at the beginning of the story…so please go easy on me since I know it could be really messed up! And I know her story is kind of like Madison's, that is intentional! I'd appreciate anything about how I could improve this actually, because I'm really not confident writing romantic stuff. Anyway, hope you like it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks for your encouragement so far!**

Chapter 12:

"You've never tried all organising and rising up, have you?" Sam said. "Well, that's what we're going to do. It's the only thing I can think of."

He was standing in the hut he shared with Jake and some other boys and he was facing at least ten desperate-faced young Guard members, who, to his consternation and dismay, had all come to him for help. Mark was there, as was Niki, and a silent, brooding Jake, and many others-nor were they all human. A boy Sam was sure was a werewolf had shown up, much younger than Richard Banner, saying his name was Joe; and two girls who looked like banshees, complete with floor-length black hair. But that was not even what most disturbed him. He was just terrified by the idea that they were looking to him as a leader.

"That's suicide," Jake said unhelpfully. "It'll never work."

"Have you got a better idea?" Sam returned. "I'm not staying here for when they decide we're ready to turn into God knows what. I'm getting out and this is the only thing I can think of. We've all got our skills-I bet if we combine them we can do this."

"But the rest of the Guard will fight for the Commander," the werewolf boy pointed out. "And there's so many more of them…"

"Which is why we'll have to move fast," Niki said. She strode forwards out of the crowd to stand beside Sam before them all, tall and proud like a symbol of courage. "We'll storm the gates. We've got weapons-if we hit them hard enough they should weaken enough for us to get through. And then we run into the forest, and hopefully Sam's family will show up to get us away…"

"Or not," Sam interrupted. "But in the forest we'll be able to hide and gather our strength anyway." It was unnerving, disturbing, to have them all looking up to him, as if he knew what he was doing, as if he wasn't terrified out of his wits just like they were. He was just marginally better at hiding it. "So…who's with us?"

There was a fearful pause, in which Sam felt his heart sink. And then Jake smiled grimly and straightened up.

"It's probably gonna kill us, but I want to see my family again. I'm with you, Sam."

"I'm with you," echoed Mark. And as one, all the others in the room repeated his words, a murmur of confidence spreading through the hut, a faint light rising in the eyes of the Guard members. And Sam felt, for the first time in days, a glimmering of hope.

…

Sam left the hut the next evening feeling like a caged wolf, every sense alert, on edge. He was acutely aware of the sword at his side, the knife he had hidden in his boot, eyes flicking between the walls and the gates, the Commander's hut and the watchful faces of his few allies. Today could be the day-today, he could escape. Tomorrow he could already be finding Dean and letting him know he was all right…hope and fear rose inside him and he had to fight to keep them emotions clear of his face.

"Hey," Niki said quietly, appearing at his side. "Don't worry. We'll all be ready on your signal."

He tried to smile. "You think they suspect anything?"

"No way." She pushed her hair back behind her ears. "Surprise is the only advantage we have, remember. We'll have to move fast."

He nodded, trying to concentrate. "Okay. So…go look normal. Wait for the signal. And keep an eye on the others." She flashed away-Sam watched the training begin, watched his little band of fellow-rebels taking special care not to get themselves injured. A few shot narrow glances at him, but fortunately not enough to arouse suspicion. He was waiting for the moment, waiting to see the Commander re-enter his block-then and only then would there be a chance of escape, and they would have to move fast.

He moved over to a pile of weapons-one that had been carefully added to by him and the others over the course of the night, and bent down beside it, pretending to rummage through in search of something, when in reality he was working feverishly. After a few seconds Jake joined him there, helping him where he faltered-Sam's father had taught him how to make this kind of grenade, it had just been a long time ago. It seemed to take a million years rather than the matter of minutes it must surely have been in reality, and then Jake got to his feet and moved away, shooting Sam only a final, anxious glance as he did so. So this is it, Sam thought, trying to keep his calm. This is it.

He got to his feet. From all over the courtyard, the five humans and five non-humans making up the tiny rebellion watched him carefully, discreetly. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong. They had all managed to position themselves fairly near the main gates and Sam could see that they all had powerful weapons of some kind.

He drew the little grenade from his pocket. It would cause confusion, a lot of noise, a lot of smoke, and hopefully an explosion big enough to weaken the gates. He had not been able to risk making it more powerful-someone could get hurt. His father would have told him to do it anyway, and hang the consequences, but Sam was not his father. He would have no innocent blood on his hands. He was escaping now with those few he could save, but he planned, secretly, to return later, maybe with Dean's assistance, to try and rescue the others. He just felt so deeply that this place was innately, horribly wrong, whatever it was even for, and he could not in all conscience condemn any one of the teenage prisoners here to remain for one moment longer than necessary.

And those that were mindless, cold-blooded killers, monsters? Sam was trying hard to continue believing that they should stay, that it was better for the world that they did, but it grew harder with every passing moment he spent with Niki, with Mark, with any of them.

He sheathed his sword. Niki approached him, smiled a challenge. All part of the deception. "Want to spar?" she asked him in a clear voice.

"Sure," he said, raised one hand above his head and punched the air, the agreed signal, pulled the pin on the grenade and lobbed it as hard as he could at the massive looming mountain of the gate.

It struck. From here he could not even hear the clang. There was a momentary pause, during which Sam saw the eyes of the entire yard on him, felt his heart sink in despair-_it hasn't worked_-and then there was a kind of rushing of air and a sound like the earth splitting in two as the bomb went off. Flame burst at the centre of the explosion, smoke billowed from the impact like a demon from an exorcism, thick and black and choking. Sam and the rebels were ready, shielding their eyes and breathing shallowly-no-one else was so lucky. He heard coughing and retching, screaming. A stray gunshot. Blinded and disoriented, he barely understood. And then Niki had grabbed his hand and was pulling him on, keeping low to breathe as easily as possible, running hard for the gate. They reached it at the same time as Jake and the young vampire Mark, and as one they drew their pistols and opened fire on the hinges and join, emptying entire magazines into the dented, groaning mechanism. It creaked and shuddered and Niki threw herself into a high kick at its very centre. Mark followed her lead, striking hard with his vampire's strength. And then, finally, a rift cracked open through the centre. Niki kicked it again, forcing it wider, and scrambled through. Despite the chaos and confusion, the smoke staining her face black, she was smiling broadly with the sheer joy of stepping outside the compound for the first time in months. Already she was extending a hand to help Joe, the youngest of their party, through. "Go!" Sam called hoarsely to her. "Run to the woods! We'll meet you!"

He was standing back, shoving the rest of the escapees through the gap before him, firing into the air to frighten off anyone who might come too near. Jake was just climbing through, the last before him, when the tall, hooded figure appeared through the smoky haze, raising one hand commandingly.

"Sam Winchester!" the Commander cried in an echoing, commanding voice that pierced even the sounds of screaming and coughing beyond. "You do not know what you are doing!" And he flexed his fist and Sam felt the power buffet him-the Commander was trying to throw him away from the rip in the gate. He braced his entire body against it, knowing that it was hopeless, and a desperate, instinctive cry was torn from his lips-"_No_!"

His body was not thrown aside. The Commander stared at him in amazement-Sam swayed with a sudden bizarre exhaustion, felt warm blood trickling into his mouth from his nose. He did not understand what had just happened, had no idea why somehow he had managed to resist the Commander's powers. But he set a foot in the gap anyway, heeding his friends' frantic cries, and was just squeezing through when he felt it-

Agony, sharp and spiking, through the back of his shoulder. He yelled in pain, feeling the weight of some object jammed in his flesh, and fell forwards onto the ground outside rather than climbing. Instantly Niki and Mark were at the gap, firing fast through it to defend their exit-Jake dragged Sam up from the ground and began to drag him in the direction of the forest. Sam struggled to stay conscious against the pain and the horrible alien feel of the _thing_ in his shoulder, grating against the bone, his head spinning as the blood drained out of him…"Niki-" he gasped and heard her voice at his side; "I'm here. Run!"

They were running through the trees now, shoving brush and leaves aside, pounding through the undergrowth as if the hounds of hell pursued them-what actually did was actually not so different. Mark led the way with his acute night-vision and Jake was supporting Sam, who though he fought to keep on running, could feel the strength slipping out of him. He stumbled and almost went down-Jake pulled his right arm over his shoulder and pulled him on. "Hold on, Sam,' he was whispering, over and over again. "Just hold on…"

It was a serious wound, Sam knew it well. And he was losing far too much blood far too fast-black spots danced before his eyes and sounds seemed to come from a long, long way away. The ground was sliding and swaying beneath him and every step he took was agony-he did not have much left to give. He stumbled again and fell to his hands and knees, fighting not to black out. Behind he could hear the sounds of pursuit-there was no time…

"Niki," he gasped, tasting blood in his mouth. "Jake. _Go_-"

'We're not leaving you here, Sam," Niki snapped, trying to get him on his feet again. It hurt so intensely he could not even scream. He knew that he could run no further-they knew it too. Jake glanced behind, terror twisting his face. "Sam," Niki whispered. "Sam, _please_…"

He had nothing left to give. He was going to die, and Niki with him-he was never going to see Dean again. He had failed. He sank lower, hopeless and broken, dying. Heard her voice again, pleading, fierce with passion and fear. The _thing_ in his shoulder stung like a brand.

He looked up through the blood-matted strands of hair falling into his face and he narrowed his eyes. He simply moved past the pain and the exhaustion, he simply ignored it, drawing on new reserves of strength and resolve from somewhere deep down inside-he did not have long, but he could fight this little bit longer. There were more important things than pain-freedom. Niki. Dean. The kids who looked to him as leader. He could do it for them. He rose to his feet as if it had never been easier. "Come on," he said to them, very quietly. "Run. There's not much time."

…..

It seemed like a million years they ran, and Sam would never understood how they escaped their pursuers-loyal Guard members, no doubt, still fighting for the Commander. But escape they did, and when Jake finally called a halt in a small clearing many miles from the compound, there was no sound but the whispering of the wind and their harsh, laboured breathing. Sam sank to the ground once more, breathing so fast and so shallowly he was in fact getting no oxygen at all. His eyes were clenched shut and he was covered in blood-he was aware of nothing now, after this final battle against his own body, but the driving agony in his left shoulder. He felt Niki grip his right hand, heard her voice pattering on and on to him, fast and urgent, but he could not make out her words. He was not even aware of collapsing into the fallen leaves-by then he was already unconscious.

Niki heard her voice panicked and shaking as she tried to stem the blood pouring from the wound in Sam's shoulder with her bare hands-he had been hit at the last moment with a massive scythe that had stuck in his body, and she had only not yet pulled it out because of the knowledge that he would only lose more blood. "Jake," she said swiftly. "Jake…I'm gonna get it out. You're gonna have to bind it up. He's lost way too much blood." Jake nodded, moving forwards, tearing a strip of his jacket to prepare a makeshift tourniquet for Sam's shoulder. Niki eased off Sam's shirt, cutting it when it threatened to pull on the scythe sticking out of his body, placed one hand gently on her friend's back and gripped the handle of the Commander's scythe with the other. She whispered a desperate apology-and pulled.

The scythe came free with a disgusting ripping noise and Sam's whole body jerked, even in complete unconsciousness reacting to the searing pain. Blood began to spurt from the jagged, ugly wound immediately and Jake moved in, pressing down on the gash with his two hands, bandaging Sam's shoulder as fast as he could with his combat-patterned tourniquet. It took another two strips of cloth before the bleeding was even partially controlled, and when Jake and Niki sat back both were soaked in Sam's blood and trembling.

"You think he'll be okay?" Jake asked Niki fearfully, knowing that she could not know but desperate for any reassurance after the nightmare of the escape. She could not give it to him-her dark eyes were fixed on Sam's motionless, bloody, sweat-streaked face.

"I don't know," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. "I don't know, Jake."

**Is that a cliffy? I don't know…anyway, they'll meet up with Dean and John and Bobby in the next chapter at last…I may not be able to post next week though since I'm going to England and I may not have internet since our computer there is broken…I'll try but I doubt I'll be able to post-sorry! Anyway, hope you liked it and please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Shorter chapter this time I know, but quite a lot happens! **

Chapter 13:

Sam returned to consciousness slowly and with difficulty, surfacing gradually through the waves of pain threatening to drive him down again. He forced himself awake, then lay still, trying to get his bearings, smelling rain and cold earth and sweat, hearing low, muffled voices. His shoulder hurt like nothing before-searing waves of agony ran up and down it as if a miniature army of needle-sharp spines was solely focused on the prize of his body. Sweat started on his forehead as he registered the pain and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Where was he? What had happened?

Breaking through the gate. The Commander trying to throw him-somehow, failing. The _thing_ stuck in his back. Jake and Niki dragging him through the forest.

Could they really have escaped?

He cracked open his eyes, found his vision too blurred and hazy to see clearly and blinked. He could taste blood in his mouth. The forest swam into focus above him, the trees rustling, whispering, the jagged fragments of grey sky beyond like chinks into a world where he was free. Voices.

"When he wakes up we can head North," someone was saying. Niki? "Try and find a way out of here and get home."

"They'll be on our trail, though," came another voice. Sam thought it belonged to the vampire Mark. And then another, more ominous addition:

"And how d'you know he'll even wake up? We still don't know if he has internal bleeding or not and he's been unconscious all night…"

Sam tried to speak, to call out-'I'm okay! I'm awake!' But his voice was shattered and hoarse, and he could make no sound. He tried to push himself up but succeeded only in slumping back down into the mud when pain flared up like fire in his shoulder once more. Movement above. Cool hands touching his forehead. Niki's voice like a balm soothing his spirit. "Sam? Sam, can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes again to find himself staring into her worried, flaming dark eyes, and he smiled despite the agony burning through him. "Niki-" he croaked. "You okay?"

"Hell yeah, it's you we were scared wasn't gonna make it…how d'you feel?"

"I'm all right," he lied, focusing on her face to give himself an extra burst of strength, and managed to sit up, baring his teeth in a brief silent scream of pain, one hand reaching over his neck to cradle the thickness of course bandages binding his wound.

"You've been so lucky," Niki was saying, her face white. "I mean crazy lucky. You were hit in the back by a scythe, and I mean anything could've happened…you should probably take it easy though, you lost a lot of blood…"

"No time," Sam muttered, clenching his hands to try and fight the pain and exhaustion steadily creeping over him. Niki was watching him worriedly-his face was white and streaked with blood, and he looked gaunt and haggard, empty of strength. She knew that he could do himself serious hurt by forcing himself to run and fight in his current condition-she also knew that there was no choice.

Jake and the others were seated in a small circle beside him, weapons clutched in each of their hands. Sam realised that they had only delayed this long because of him-that they were all terrified. Well, he would not risk their lives any longer. They could do this.

"We need to get out of the forest," he said, every word layered with pain, sweat starting on his brow. He flicked back his hair and tried again to control himself. "If we can get to a village, even just a house…we'll be able to escape the Commander I think. But-"

"Can't we call your family?" Niki asked him in surprise. "I thought you said…"

Sam looked at her, feeling the flame within at the sight of her brave, defiant, lovely face, the dark hair scything her jaw, her deep, fierce eyes. Her inhumanity and her dread destiny. "That won't work," he said quietly. "They're hunters."

"So are you," Mark pointed out.

"They won't think twice," Sam returned. "We can't afford to contact my family if you're all to survive. Trust me." He looked around the circle at the nine pale, resolute young faces, the human and the inhuman. Was he doing right by freeing those who could prove a danger so long as they promised not to? Had he reformed monsters or set them loose? He pushed away the thought-right now he had to focus on keeping them all alive.

"Does…does anyone know which way we should head?"

"I do," Niki said. "I think. I woke up briefly when he was bringing me here and I saw the position of the stars…we need to head due North and we should reach some small town in a couple of days."

Sam shot her a pained smile. "Let's go, then." Then he hesitated. "Uh-thank you, for waiting for me," he added, gazing out across the circle of escapees. "Thank you."

…..

The attack came without warning. They had been walking for a few hours, all of them on guard and alert, weapons primed-and yet till they were not ready. Sam could feel his own weakness, could feel a phantom scythe protruding from his shoulder with the memory of the injury that he could feel leaking blood still now. What was more, the drug they all used at the camp to hide pain and injury was wearing off, and his numerous earlier wounds were all resurfacing with vicious force. The bullet wound in his arm, the old cuts in his arm and chest, the bruising and torn muscles from when he had been hung up on the wall, cracked ribs and gashes from earlier fights-he had known that taking that drug would do him more harm than good, and now he was just suffering the consequences of many weeks of intensively ill-using his body and having given no chance to heal. It was difficult to walk-often he stumbled, falling against trees and sometimes right down to the ground but he forced himself on with the desperation that his weakness would not get them all killed. He was hurt badly, he knew-maybe mortally. He was certainly losing a lot of blood and was in an inordinate amount of pain-he was cold and dizzy and sometimes had to catch himself to keep from just drifting away. But there was nothing any of them could do about it. Often he caught Niki's worried, even panicked glances, especially when he fell, but he tried to reassure her with smiles, since they had no choice but to go on.

He had decided long ago that he would simply have to keep going, somehow, until they were safe.

Sam and Niki were leading the group as best they could-she was the one who best knew the way, and he had somehow ended up their leader, though he still was not quite sure how. The escape had been his idea and his operation, certainly, but he was uneasy and uncertain in the role of leader, and due to his debilitating injuries felt still more unworthy for the role than he would have even usually. And yet he accepted it, wordlessly, because there was no time for debate, and because somehow deep down he was intensely touched that they trusted him to this extent, even if unwisely. Still, because they were in front, it was they who bore the first brunt of the attack.

Werewolves. Sam just had time to recognise Richard Banner as one of them before he was thrown backwards onto the earth-they came lunging silently as shadows through the trees to spring for Sam and Niki, remaining in human form, but their strength and speed nevertheless terrifying. He heard screams behind him as the other kids tried to organise themselves. "Niki!" Sam yelled, heard the sounds of her battling the other werewolf to the side. "_Run_!" he howled to the others, and brought up his foot to kick deep into Richard's side. The other boy yelped in pain but only ground down harder, shoving Sam's shoulders into the dirt, kneeling on his arms to trap his hands. Pain exploded throughout his body and his vision swam sickeningly for an instant as he felt himself passing out, and fought the pull of his own unconsciousness with all his remaining strength.

"What are you doing?" he snapped hoarsely. "Don't you want to be free?"

"I want to be able to _kill_," Richard snarled furiously. "And the Commander'll be so happy when he hears I'm the one found you-" He pressed his hands down around Sam's neck, half-cutting off his air supply, so that he could only gasp in meagre breaths of air, trapped, struggling helplessly, his injured, broken body useless against the supernatural strength of the werewolf. He could not even try to free his throat with his hands, crushed beneath Richard's weight already as they were.

The other Guard members were rushing from the trees now, throwing themselves into the fray with a single-minded ferocity. Not one of them was human-there must have been at least fifteen of them, far outnumbering Sam's little band. The rest of the refugees were all engaged in their own battles now-pinned underneath the werewolf, Sam could only hear screaming, shouting, heavy breathing and the clash of weapons. Weapons! He fumbled for his machete, slicing it round towards Richard's head, but the boy only grinned and swiped it aside. There was a manic gleam in his eyes-he looked rabid, insane, terrifying.

"You know what I'm going to do to you, Winchester?" he hissed, bending so close to the helpless Sam that the young hunter was choked by his foul breath. "I'm gonna rip our tongue out with my bare hands. Then I'll carve up your stomach with my knife, here-"He held it up-the sunlight glinted dazzlingly bright off the spotless steel blade. Richard smiled. "Scary, huh? Then, when you're choking on your own blood, I'll pull out everything inside you, to see if you hunters really are lily-livered as they say. And then I'll tear your throat out with my teeth, and crush your miserable life into the dust. How's that sound?"

"You're a sick puppy," Sam gasped, trying with some mad impulse for a little of Dean's courage. If he was to die he would die fighting-even if he could only fight with his words at this point. Richard laughed. "Oh, _puppy_ jokes is it now? You must be getting desperate. Go on then, Winchester, scream for help. _Beg_ before I pull your squealing little tongue out. I want to hear you beg and maybe I'll let you die easy…"

"You'll never make me beg," Sam rasped, his voice barely audible. His sight was spinning, darkening beyond Richard's face-the lack of oxygen was only hastening the progress towards unconsciousness he seemed to have been fighting all day. He had nothing left to give-he was falling already. Hopefully he would die before Richard got his sick little torture session-at any rate he was going to black out very soon and he was almost grateful for it. It was over-they had failed and he was never going to see his family again. And yet somehow he did not care-he was far beyond emotion, far beyond fear or regret. He felt as if his mind was passing into the next world already, before his body had even begun to die. Richard released his throat, allowing him to gasp in a breath of air, and leaned close, his hands groping across Sam's face, and his pointed teeth gleamed.

"Oh, you'll beg now," he hissed. "I've been waiting for this moment a long time, Winchester."

A crunch, and blood exploded across Sam's face, clogging his mouth. He choked and spat, bewildered-he felt no added pain. Richard's face was a mask of amazement-as Sam stared up at him his hands flew to his chest, his eyes lowered-a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his lips. Sam focused his eyes-protruding through Richard's chest, having been shoved through from his back, was the tip of a silver knife.

The werewolf's mouth opened and he expelled a halting breath-then he toppled, collapsing across Sam, crushing his chest and soaking him in blood. Sam felt his enemy kicked off him, felt someone's hands raise his shoulders, prop him against something, brush hair from his face, though the blood in his eyes made it impossible to see a thing. Someone was calling his name with a kind of horrified urgency. "Sam. _Sammy_! Sammy, please!"

He blinked away the blood. Through blurred, fading vision he could just see the face of the man who was supporting him, could see the fear and desperation in those so-familiar green eyes. His first thought was of relief and overwhelming joy-and then he remembered Niki and the other kids whose lives were now bound to his.

"Dean-" he whispered. "Dean-_no_-" And then the rushing world of pain and blackness engulfed him, and he knew no more as his body slumped in his brother's grip, his eyes rolling up, fading away at last.

The quote 'you're a sick puppy' is one that I'm pretty sure is in Supernatural somewhere, but I cannot place it…I think Dean said it at some point but I could be wrong. Anyway, if it is there I don't mean to plagiarise it…


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for all your comments!**

Chapter 14:

Dean did not understand what was going on.

They had followed the directions Bobby had given them, he and John and Bobby himself. They had come hiking deep into the heart of this cold, dark Maine forest. For over a day they had found nothing, then, about midday of the next one, they had heard screaming, crashing-the heralds of a fight-and had instantly made their way towards the source of the noise as fast as possible. Maybe somewhere Dean had realised that it must be something to do with Sam-this had just in no way lessened his amazement and almost dizzying relief when he had actually found his brother there. Certainly he had found him pinned underneath a werewolf and bleeding from numerous wounds, but he had found him.

Now he knelt there with Sam's unconscious body in his arms, watching as his father and Bobby coolly shot two more of the werewolves-the others of the pack turned tail then, and ran back into the trees, no doubt to report to their master. The ten kids remaining got unsteadily to their feet, many cradling injuries of their own, and one, a pretty, dark-haired girl of about Sam's age, stepped to the front. "Who are you?" she demanded, her hand tightening on the hilt of the sword in her bloody hand. "Answer me!"

"Are you with Sam?" Dean returned. The girl's face tightened as she focused on Sam's motionless, battered body in Dean's arms, and she nodded stiffly. "You escaped with him?" Again, she nodded. "Well, I'm his brother, Dean. My father-our friend Bobby Singer. Now let's move. You coming?"

The girl had turned to the rest of her group. For the first time Dean looked at them-there was something wrong with some of them, that was all he could say for sure. One boy hid his face from the light and two other girls would not even step forward out of the shadows. John stepped forwards, raising his gun once more. His face had darkened abruptly, and what surprised Dean still more was that Bobby was making no move to hold him back. The first gnawings of a realisation began to nuzzle his mind-

"Go," the dark-haired girl said to them simply. "I'm sorry."

And just like that, four of the teenagers still standing simply turned away into the forest and ran. John yelled and lunged forwards, but the dark girl had her sword out and was holding it up towards him, threateningly, skilfully.

"They're gone," she told him quietly. "And they won't harm you. Your son needs medical attention, can't you see that?"

John glanced over at Sam and his face changed-then he nodded and slid his pistol back into its holster. "Bobby, lead the way," he ordered, then turned to Dean. "C'mon, I'll help you," he said, bending down, but Dean staggered to his feet unaided, holding Sam close with his arms under his knees and shoulders, like a sleeping child, the seventeen-year-old's head cradled against his shoulder.

"I can do it," he said jealously, and strode after Bobby without a backwards glance. The dark-haired girl ushered the remaining kids forwards and they too joined the procession-John came at the very end of the line, lost in thought and confusion.

What had Sam been through? Who _were_ his companions? Could they really have been what he had feared? And how-how could they even be sure that this time he would recover?

They ended up piling in two separate groups into the two vehicles available, Bobby taking most of the kids in his truck, while John got into the driver's seat of the Impala and Dean claimed the backseat, still holding onto Sam. The dark girl took the passenger seat, twisting around in her place to keep her eyes on Sam, watching as Dean tried to bind the worst of his wounds.

"Who are you, kid?' John asked her after a while. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then yielded.

"Niki Freelands," she replied. "I'm a friend of Sam's."

Dean was still talking almost incoherently to Sam, picking up vague snatches of the atmosphere in the car as he did so. "…you see, Sammy? You gotta wake up and be okay now you've actually got a hot chick waiting for you. I mean c'mon, Sammy, for you this is the chance of a lifetime, right?…"

….

John and Bobby drove fast, making it down the highway and pulling up at the nearest motel as fast as they could, which actually meant a matter of minutes. John paid for two adjoining rooms and Dean carried Sam, who was still unconscious, into one through the side door. Bobby was left to deal with the other kids, trying to work out where they all came from and how he could contact their families, since John only had eyes for his youngest son, lying motionless and covered in blood on the motel bed. He bent beside him and within minutes his face had paled shockingly-he had made his assessment.

"How…how bad?" Dean asked him tremulously, not sure he really wanted to know the answer. He had found his little brother-he could not lose him again. And yet he had not often seen such an extensive collection of injuries on one body before, even for the disaster-prone Sam. John looked up, keeping his eyes low, one hand gently stroking through his youngest son's sweat-matted chestnut hair.

"The bullet wound looks like it's infected. There are a lot of cuts and gashes, some are stitched but most of them he's broken open. I'd say he's got at least one cracked rib, too, from how he's breathing, and there's some worrying bruising on his shoulders. His back seems to be burned somehow. The worst is this in his shoulder-looks like something stabbed him and he's lost a lot of blood…" He shook his head slowly. "If there are any internal injuries we'll find out soon enough."

"The gash in his shoulder was caused by a scythe the Commander threw at him as we were escaping," came Niki's voice from behind. John turned to her. "Oh yes?"

"Yeah. And you should know that they hung him up against a wall for a day and a night, like he was crucified. They gave us a drug there that stopped us feeling any pain or weakness, but it'll have worn off by now. And Sam had to take a lot of it-I don't know if there'll be any after-effects." She spoke quietly, almost without emotion, eyes never leaving John's. "You should be proud of your son. Mr Winchester. He's the only reason we escaped and he's the only one who's stood up to the Commander for as long as I can remember."

John nodded curtly. "I am proud of him," he said shortly. "Dean, get the first-aid kit from the car. We need to sort out the bleeding and infection."

Dean was outraged. "We can't keep him here, he needs to go to a hospital!"

"Whoever kidnapped him-the Commander, whoever that is-is going to be looking for him," John pointed out. "In a hospital we'd have almost no control over what happens to him. Get the kit, Dean. Now."

…

Dean sat beside Sam's bed that night. John was sleeping in the other bed and Niki had finally left the room and gone over to help the other kids explain to Bobby exactly what was going on-she seemed to have fallen into the place of their leader, with Sam out of action. Sam himself had not stirred while Dean and John cleaned and stitched and re-stitched the cuts and injuries patterning his body, applying salves to the worst of the bruising, trying to force water down his swollen throat. They had laid him on his front, so that he could not aggravate the deep, horrific wound through his left shoulder, but had he been awake it was clear that the pain he would have been in would have been immense.

And yet he had not moved. Not until now-suddenly he turned his head listlessly on the pillow, and Dean was filled with an eager joy, hopeful that he was at last waking. But Sam did not wake-he mumbled something in his sleep, his breathing quickening, and then suddenly his face tightened as if in pain and he lashed out, his hand flailing weakly, to be caught by Dean, who drew closer, gently stroking his little brother's forehead to try and calm him. "Hey, Sammy, hey, easy there," he murmured swiftly, anxiously. "You're safe now, it's gonna be okay…"

"No," Sam gasped from between clenched teeth. "No, God no…no more-" Suddenly his back arched up from the bed and he gave a kind of hoarse strangled cry, one hand coming to his throat as if to claw away something obstructing his breathing. "No-Dean-"

"I'm here Sammy, it's okay-" He eased the kid's trembling body back down onto the bed; Sam was too weak to resist, racked with dry sobs of pain and fear, locked in a world of delirium from which he could not escape. "You…you can't-" His face was streaked with sweat, his untidy bangs plastered to his skin; his eyes darted behind the lids in his nightmare. He turned his head to the side of the pillow, curling around his injuries, the shivering growing more intense as he clutched the blankets closer around him. Dean touched his forehead and found it searingly hot. He bit his lip and glanced up to see that his father had been woken by Sam's scream and had come to the side of the bed, his face intent with worry.

"That's one hell of a fever," he said softly. "Kid'll be lucky to…"

"No!" Dean snapped. "No! Don't even say it!" He slid one and under the side of Sam's face, cupping his brother's cheek and stroking across it gently with one finger. "He's not gonna give up now, not after coming so far. You hear me, Sam? I'm talking about you here. You gotta prove me right, okay? That a deal?"

Sam's eyes cracked open, the pupils dilated and dead black, his vision hazy. Dean leaned closer. "Sammy? C'mon Sammy, can you hear me?"

"Dean?" Sam croaked. "Dean…"

Dean felt a kind of desperate, crazy relief well through him. "Hey, Sammy, I said you could do it, huh?"

"I said…I said I'd save them…I said…you came…you can't…go…"

Dean did not understand. He was not sure that Sam was actually fully conscious; he seemed to be rambling, his words disjointed and punctuated by his laboured, shallow breathing. His eyes were at half-mast and he had not stopped trembling. "Just take it easy," he said anxiously. "Try and sleep, 'kay? I'm gonna be right here…" John was silent, watching, hoping. He did not know what to say. "You feeling all right, kiddo?" Dean added. "Anything hurt?"

"Cold," Sam whispered, his eyes slowly closing once more, his energy exhausted. "Cold…"

"You're not cold," Dean muttered. "You're burning up…" But Sam had already drifted away once more, falling away back into his nightmares, and all Dean could do was pull the covers back off his shivering, sweating body, hypnotised by the pain and fear and misery etched into Sam's sleeping face. He had failed to protect him to such an extent as this-if Sam was sick and hurt and fevered and bleeding then it was Dean's fault. He should have spoke out before, should have called his father on his behaviour earlier, caught on faster…and then maybe Sam would not be lying here so broken before him.

John seemed to know what he was thinking, for he reached out to lay a hand on his oldest son's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "It's not your fault, Dean," he said quietly. "If anyone's it's mine."

"No," Dean contradicted him in a whisper. "No, it's my job to take care of him. You're the one told me that, Dad. Right from the beginning."

…

It was a long, terrifying night for Dean, keeping watch over his little brother's shivering, fever-racked body, trying to make him drink, to calm him when his nightmares grew too intense, unable in truth to do anything at all. Sam's injuries and the strain his body had been put under, as well as, Dean feared, some kind of withdrawal reaction to whatever drug they had all been using at the camp, had seriously weakened him, and now he fought for his life. Throughout that night he lay lost in delirium, and there was absolutely nothing that John, Dean or Niki could do to help him.

Dawn found Dean dozing off in his chair beside the bed, John in a similar position in another, and Niki curled up and fast asleep under a spare blanket on the floor beside them. When Sam opened his eyes and blinked himself awake it was this that he saw. He raised himself up on his elbows, wincing with the pain that shot through his body, fighting the nausea that made his vision swim sickeningly with every movement, trying to work out where he was and what was going on. The last thing he remembered was Richard Banner grinding him into the mud in the forest.

And now suddenly-Dean. Dad. Had they made it out? Had they escaped?

It was then that he remembered Niki, and his heart sank. They could not stay here. He had told her that he would find a way to cure her of her curse, and that was exactly what he was going to do. But he could not confide in his brother, still less his father. John at least would kill Niki the second he found out about who she really was. Which meant that Sam was going to have to leave them once again, with Niki, in secret. His heart seemed to break in two at the idea-how could he make a choice like this? His family, or her?

It was at that moment that Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head, looking about him in confusion and befuddlement. His tired gaze flashed across Sam who, if weak and exhausted, was definitely awake, and he shot to his feet.

"Sammy, thank God-"

"Hey, Dean," Sam returned, trying to smile, to seem as if everything was normal. "Uh-what happened?"

…..

It had taken several hours for Niki to find time for this conversation with Sam-Dean, John and Bobby had been far too relieved and guilty to let him out of their sight for even minutes at first. Now however, at last, they had retreated to the other room to, she suspected, decide what they were going to do next, leaving her alone with Sam.

"We have to leave," he said immediately. She was not surprised that he had said it, but she could not allow it.

"No, Sam. I'm not letting you give up all this for me. They love you-so _much_."

"Dad doesn't," he said, very quietly. He looked thin and white and lost sitting there knees drawn up, the pains and troubles of the long fight etched into his face, maybe never to fully fade. They both knew, though neither would say it out loud, that this day was but a brief interlude in his sickness, that the road ahead would be still harder. Sam just knew that he had to seize this short respite while he could.

"He does," she said firmly. "Even I can see that. But you can't leave them for me."

Sam shook his head in frustration. Niki was beginning to wonder if she had chosen the wrong time to do this-he looked shattered.

"And anyway," she added. "You can't abandon them yet. We still have to go back and free the others at the camp. All the other kids."

He looked marginally happier, maybe through the idea of putting off what could only be a truly horrible decision to make. "Yeah. But Niki-you know some of them are going to get out only to go on a killing spree-then that'll be our fault."

"So what would you rather do, then?" she challenged. "Leave all the innocents in there just in case the _less_ innocent don't do as you want them to?"

"They're loyal to the Commander," Sam said miserably. "His own private army, like he said. I just don't know how-" He broke off with a wince, his hand going to his shoulder. Instantly she felt guilty-he was sick and hurting and he really should not have to think about this kind of thing right now. They were not even yet sure that he would survive.

"Hey," she said swiftly. "We'll find a way." She rose and shot him a reassuring smile that was a tribute to her acting skills. "For now you need to rest and get your strength back."

_A young woman stood in a dark room facing a hooded, cloaked man-nothing could be seen of him beneath the concealing cowl. And this time Sam found himself able to hear-she was pleading with him._

"_Please, Christopher. Just take it off for a moment so I can see your face…"_

"_I can never take it off," he returned, softly. "I'm sorry, Moira. But everything is perfect now-they will never find me and we can be together for always!"_

_She blinked. "Who will never find you?" Her voice was slightly annoyed now. "For months now you've been looking over your shoulder, screaming in your sleep, saying something was following you. And now suddenly you show up wearing a hood you say you can never take off and expect me to just fall in with your bizarre plans? Well, I won't. Either you tell me what's going on or I leave." She folded her arms, tilting her chin, unmovable._

_Christopher stared at her-the glint of his eyes beneath the shadows obscuring his face seemed angry. "So," he breathed. "You're in league with them, are you? A spy right by my side?"_

_She took a step back, frightened. "Chris-no-what are you talking about-"_

"_I will not fail now," he hissed, shoving close to her-she was backed against the wall now, her face panicked, his body pressing in on her. "I have just found the only way out of the deal and I will not be taken now-least of all by some pathetic human traitor like you!" And there was the glint of a blade and Moira gave a gasping cry and sagged against him-he caught her bleeding body in his arms and held her close for a second, the knife still protruding from her heart, then let her go. Her corpse fell to the floor with a thud and her lifeless, twisted face was bared to the light-_

_And deep within the shadows of the hood, Christopher wept._

Sam jerked awake, gasping and sweating. Dean, at his side, was instantly there, gripping his shoulders, calling his name. "Hey. Sam. Sammy! It's just a dream! You're okay-"

Sam stared up at his brother in the darkness, bewildered and stunned by the first flowering of an idea. "Yeah," he said a little dazedly. "Yeah, just a dream…"

**Okay, I'm not completely happy with this chapter, it seems a bit off in places but I've worked on it quite a lot and can't seem to sort it out, so…here it is. **

**I also wanted to say that I've been feeling that this story might not be working so well, and I think it's because I sort of changed plot in the middle. Originally John was not going to be hypnotised-it was going to be his natural reaction, being so cruel to Sam, which would make the ending very different to how it's now turning out, but I felt really guilty about that halfway and thought I was being too unfair to him, so I changed it and I think that may have messed things in here up a bit. **

**Anyway, looking back I'm thinking I may have made the wrong decision there, for the way the rest of the plot is turning out. I may go back and rewrite that part of the story, I may not, but I'd appreciate knowing what you think of all that. And of course maybe I'm just imagining that it's not working and it seems fine to you all? If not I apologise and I'll try and sort it out…but I guess we'll see, right? Thanks for reading and I'll have the next chapter up soon!**


	15. Chapter 15

Okay, so. I am going to change those earlier chapters, because I've almost finished writing this story and turns out the ending I have needs to fit in with the earlier plan. I'm sorry for those who would have preferred otherwise, but it's the way it has to go I think, hopefully I'll redeem myself at the end, because you'll see that it had to be this way. The only parts I've changed are fairly small bits in chapters 10 and 11, and the rest is the same…but from here on then that's the storyline I'm going to be using, just so you know. John was NOT hypnotised but he didn't actually hate Sam-I honestly think this is how he would react.

Also, as I said I have almost finished writing it so I'll be able to post more often now, since I have a lot of chapters lined up…:-) my thanks to those who reviewed and I hope you enjoy the new chapter, after this crazy long author's note…anyway!

Chapter 15:

"Sam, I want to talk to you about something very important."

John's face was grim and solemn-Sam felt a slightly irrational surge of fear. He still had no idea how to explain his father's earlier cruelty to him, and he was trying so hard to forgive and forget, simply because he had to believe that John could not truly hate him. He sat up straight, forcing himself to show no discomfort though the injuries in his chest and shoulder and arms stung with pain. He had been fighting for a long time, and he knew how to seem strong even when he was falling apart.

They had been here at the little motel for three days now, despite the risk of being discovered-Bobby and John had made the occasional foray out to deliver some of the kids back to their homes, but Sam had lain unconscious and delirious with fever for almost the entire time. Today was the first day he had been able to get up and get dressed, to find that all but Niki had gone. He was still in pain and he felt hot and feverish even now, having to force himself to function even halfway normally, but he was determined that he would not seem so weak now-there was still work to be done if he, Niki and the others were ever to live in peace and safety.

"What is it?" he now asked his father a little warily. John looked strange-almost a mixture of awkward and stern. His gun was at his side-he had barely put it down since arriving here and he was clearly chafing at the delay caused by Sam's sickness. That realisation hurt.

"When we found you-being attacked by…the werewolves. In the forest…" he paused delicately. "Your friend there, Niki. She, uh, took charge, and told about half of your group to run away, Sam. But I could not help getting a look at a few of them…"

Sam said nothing. He had a feeling that he knew where this was going. He just stared almost belligerently through the strands of hair falling into his face, readying himself to fight for what he believed in.

"Sam, they were not human. Your _allies_. Not human." John suddenly stood up and went striding around the room, his face darkening. "What is your explanation, Sam?"

Sam lifted his head and took a deep breath. "They weren't killers. They deserved to go free."

John whirled on him, his hands clenching into fists. "_How could you do such a thing_?" he exploded. "A son of mine allying himself with creatures of that sort! Monsters! What the hell was going through your head?"

Sam felt himself shaking inside and willed his voice to remain strong. "They weren't killers," he repeated. John cut across him.

"They're not even human! And you set them loose on the world!"

Sam felt rage growing inside himself, now. They were not monsters, Mark and the other kids, and Niki-they just had the misfortune to have become victims of other monsters. It was not their fault and they had given him their oaths. "They swore to me that they would not become killers," he said. "They swore it. They're people, Dad! Not just monsters. They're people!"

John's face twisted in contempt. "You have betrayed everything we stand for," he snapped. "You are a _hunter_, Sam. They are freaks, abominations. Can you even imagine how much innocent blood could be on your hands?"

"You're not _listening_!" Sam yelled suddenly, surging to his feet, abruptly losing his temper. "I don't even want to _be_ a hunter! And dammit they swore to me! What if I was turned into a vampire, would you kill me? Or Dean? When you know _we're_ people and we're not murderers? _Would you_?"

John's face seemed to freeze and for just an instant Sam did not recognise his father at all. "If I had to," he said cruelly. With those words, so unexpected, Sam felt all the strength drain out of him-he felt empty, broken, alone. But right.

"You don't even realise what you have done," John hissed. "I am so disappointed in you, Sam. I would have thought you would at least know where your loyalties lie." And with that he turned and strode out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him. Left alone Sam fell backwards onto the bed, dropping his face into his hands. Whatever Dean had said, clearly nothing had changed between them.

….

The Commander lifted his concealed face to the heavens and sniffed the air. An unseen smile crossed his lips and he looked ahead through the trees at the innocent, so-exposed low motel building. He was in the right place. He turned briefly and gave the nodded signal to the army of silent, resolute teenagers ranged behind him-instantly they began to move forwards.

…

Dean was loading the car in preparation for their expected departure come the dawn when he saw them; the lines of blank-faced teenagers, most of them about Sam's age, bearing weapons from ancient crossbows to rifles and moving inorexably and silently towards the motel, though not bothering to hide. He knew instantly what must be going on and paused only to grab his duffel bag packed with weapons from inside the trunk and aim a couple of warning shots over the heads of the army before racing for the door of the room. They did not chase him-they must know that he was of no use to them alive or dead. It was Sam they wanted.

He came bursting into the room where John, Bobby, Niki and a dejected-looking Sam were gathered, out of breath and flinging the bag of weapons down onto the bed. "They're here!" he gasped. "They're here, surrounding the room!"

John moved for the window with blinding speed, peering through and choking back a cry of alarm as he saw the mass of armed teenagers pressing in on their little room. The only bright spot seemed to be that they appeared to be leaving the rest of the motel alone-they were laying siege to this one room alone.

"It's me they want," Sam whispered. "I have to give myself up or they'll kill you all-" Dean grabbed his arm, suddenly panicked by fury. "Don't be such an _idiot_ Sam, you can't go out there!"

His younger brother shook himself free. "I'm the only reason we're all still here!"

"God_dammit_-"

John turned back from the window, his face cool and collected with a practised calm. "No-one's giving themselves up," he stated. "We'll just have to hold out as long as we can. At dawn most of them'll have to run anyway." He peered up at the sky. "We have a few hours."

"You can't all die for me!" Sam protested. John did not even look at him.

"You open your mouth again and I'll lock you in the bathroom, Sammy, I mean it. Dean, make sure everything's locked. You, girl, Niki-can you handle a gun?"

"Yeah," she replied, and he pointed her towards the bag on the bed. "Get ready to defend yourself. Bobby, you need to contact Jim and Caleb, whoever else you can think of-"

"Already tried it," Bobby returned. "No signal."

John cursed. "Of course. Dean, keep an eye on your brother."

"_What_?" Sam exclaimed in indignation. "I can-"

"I don't want you sneaking out trying to be a hero," John said levelly. "I meant what I said about the bathroom." He left his youngest son spluttering and began priming a gun. Dean was pulling the heavy shutter blinds down over the windows and locking them behind them. Sam went to Niki, took her hand. "You should get out of here," he said. "Anything could happen..."

She shook her head. "You're unbelievable, Sam Winchester. This is my fight too, y'know. He wants me just as much as you and I do not let people fight my battles for me." She smiled suddenly, wildly. "Particularly not those with a tendency to act the hero." And she reached up and kissed him swiftly, strongly, stopping his reply.

At that moment there came the sound of the first crossbow bolt striking the shutter over the window. He grabbed a 9mm from the pile on the bed and took his place between Niki and Dean, ready to defend the room. The five fighters within were silent, waiting. The solid walls were their first line of defence-until their weak points were penetrated they would just have to wait and hope that they could hold out. There was perhaps twenty minutes of tense, electric silence within, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the five warriors trapped in their motel room. Dean glanced at Sam and could only pray that dawn would come soon, because Sam was so plainly not in any condition for a full-out battle it was almost ridiculous. He was clearly trying to seem strong, but he was white and sweating and Dean could see blood staining the back of his shirt where it still seeped through the heavy bandage. Sam intercepted his look and shot back a challenge Dean recognised; it said something along the lines of _I dare you to be worried about me_.

It was at that moment that the blind over the window suddenly crumpled and collapsed away from the blackened glass like paper, and three fierce, furious faces were shoved up against it. The glass was already creaking, cracking, and when it suddenly smashed in John and Bobby were instantly there, bullets from their guns splattering into the foreheads of the first attackers, killing them in moments. Sam saw the sight like a blow straight to the heart-he did not know who they were, if they were human or supernatural. He _knew_ that they were trying to kill his family and capture himself and Niki. But in that first instant all that he was aware of was that they were just kids, and that his father and almost-uncle had just killed them. But there was no time to think-other Guard members were already swarming up by the window, pressing inside through force of numbers, uncaring if those in the front row died, so long as they could use their bodies as shields and make it inside. John and Bobby were killing every second and there were still too many-they were not like teenagers at all, but crazed, blood-frenzied beasts whose only desperate desire was their destruction. Niki's sword hissed by at Sam's side and he thought that maybe he had not needed to be so worried about her, but by then he was already occupied in a hand-to-hand struggle with a boy whose face he could not even make out, it was so twisted by hatred and madness. What had the Commander done to them? he wondered in a kind of fascinated terror. They were not sane, not rational-they were _changed_.

"Why d'you follow him?" he gasped, fighting to reach his gun, though he was so overcome with pity he doubted he would be able kill this boy even if he could reach the weapon. The boy did not even respond, his hand clawing deep into Sam's shoulder, and it was with difficulty that he restrained a cry. Then a gunshot and the boy fell across him limply-he staggered to keep his feet, seeing Niki standing over him, the pistol in her hand smoking slightly.

"They're monsters," she said clearly. "Focus, Sam, or they'll kill us all."

And then the door burst open and there was a burst of machine-gun fire. Sam heard the sounds of people throwing themselves to the ground and felt someone knock him down, pinning him, shielding him with their own body. He tried to move, uncertain and confused, heard Dean swear in his ear, and went still. The noise seemed to go on forever before finally it ceased, leaving their ears ringing, the air stinking of smoke-utter silence. Sam managed to raise his head slightly and like a figure from a nightmare the Commander stepped through the shattered door and turned the hooded face directly towards him.

"There you are, Sam," he said pleasantly. "I have been looking everywhere."

**I know it's shorter but it just ended up that way...also I apologise since I'm not great at writing battles like that! Please review, I'd love to know what you think! (hopeful smily)**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't know whether it needs a warning, but there is quite a lot of pain in this chapter…**

**Chapter 16:**

Sam was aware of John, Bobby and Niki raising their heads from the ground, crawling out of the safe places beneath beds and tables where they had sheltered from the machine gun fire. He was aware of Dean gripping his arm-it hurt right down the wound in his shoulder but he made no sound. But all he could process was the Commander standing there in the door, barely meters away from him, and behind him Dr Bates, and behind him an entire army of teenagers bearing weapons and expressions of twisted hatred. He rose to his feet, Dean at his side, holding his head high.

"You should never have run away," the Commander breathed. "Now your family will suffer the consequences."

"You'll have to go through us all to get to him!" Dean snarled, suddenly shoving Sam behind him and spreading his arms to shield him with his own body. The Commander raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. "So be it. It will certainly be a good lesson."

Sam pushed Dean away and stepped forward, fighting down his rising panic, until he was only a couple of steps away from his most terrifying enemy, determined not to show his fear. "If you want me," he said, very quietly and very firmly, "Take me. But leave them alone. It's me you want."

The Commander stared down at him-there was no sound in the room. Even Sam's family and Niki seemed silenced by some kind of power, some kind of awe, some confusion. And then the Commander laughed, very shortly and coldly.

"It is too late, Sam Winchester," he returned. "It seems that you respond better to punishment." And Sam saw the flash of silver but had no time to move and the knife drove deep and grating into his stomach; he heard himself scream as pain exploded through his abdomen-heard Dean's voice yelling his name. Someone caught him as he fell towards the floor and he struggled to focus. "I'm okay," he gasped through his agony, tasting blood in his mouth, trying to believe it himself, because the fight was not over. "I'm okay-"

Hands gripped his shoulders, dragged him to his feet, shoved him, stumbling and hurting, away from the Commander. A door opened and he was pushed forwards-he fell to his knees on cold tiles. Looked up and frowned, certain that his blurred vision must be betraying him. He was in the bathroom. He turned, just in time to see the door slam behind him, saw Dean rushing forwards and grasping his shoulders, holding him up, that face Sam knew better than any other panicked and horror-stricken.

"Hell, Sam-"

"What's happened to...Dad...B'by?" Sam whispered, fighting to remain conscious, his brother's grip on his shoulders all that was keeping him from collapsing. "They...okay? Niki?"

"I don't know," Dean replied almost absently. "I think they were tying Dad and Bobby up when they threw me in here, they probably enjoyed that..."

"Why're you-"

"Probably to keep you alive, kiddo. Sit still, I need to take a look..." Dean eased Sam down into a sitting position against the wall, his hands trembling in his terror. Sam was white and shaking, and there was so much blood spilling out of the wound in his stomach he was amazed the kid had any left to lose. "Hey. Stay with me." He cut Sam's shirt away from the wound, trying to glimpse the gash through the spurting blood. He probed the torn flesh gently and Sam made a kind of strangled sound of pain, his head tipping back against the wall. "Sorry, sorry..." There was no way he had avoided internal injury this time. Dean knew that if he could not get Sam to a hospital very quickly he was going to lose him. There was not much time...but how could he do that?

"Stay there," he ordered, as if his brother was going anywhere, and stood up, hammering on the door. "Hey!" he yelled. "Hey! We need to get to a hospital!" Silence. "For God's sake he's gonna die!" Still nothing. Dean whirled round, gripping his scalp with his hands, terrified. Sam's eyes cracked open. "Dean," he whispered. "Dean we need to get out of here...help Dad and Niki..." Dean could barely believe it. His little brother must realise that he was dying and yet his first thought was still to save those he loved. It seemed incredible, even for his Sammy.

"Sammy I want you to stay very still," he said urgently, in his mind running through the list of possible treatments he knew-none would have any real effect. He knew only some very basic first aid, and this kind of injury was far beyond his skills, or even his father's. "Just don't move and I'm gonna try and stop the bleeding."

"Dean I'm okay..." Sam suddenly coughed violently, retching blood, and a racking sob of pain shook his battered body; he slumped forwards, gasping, clenching his arms across his stomach. Dean bent beside him once more and put his arms around him, holding him and supporting him against his chest while the teenager struggled for breath, spitting blood, silent tears streaming down his bloodstained face. "Hey, hey little brother, take it easy. You're gonna be okay, I promise. I'm here, Sammy. Just breathe..." He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life, because he and Sam both knew that the wound was a fatal one unless it could be treated professionally very quickly, and there was absolutely no chance of that. And yet Dean could not bear to give up yet, not now.

"Just hang in there, Sammy," he whispered as he tore his own shirt into long strips which he used to bind around his brother's torso, holding the gaping gash in his muscled stomach together as best he could. Sam was now leaning back limply against the cold tiled wall, eyes half closed, his energy depleted by blood loss, shivering faintly as he slowly went into shock. Dean was fighting not to panic-he wanted more than anything to give his own life in place of his brother's that was slipping so unstoppably and irrevocably away, but he simply could not. All he could do right now was keep believing, and keep trying, for Sam. His little brother who deserved none of this hell.

...

John looked sideways, carefully keeping his fear from his eyes. He had seen the knife go into his youngest son and he knew that it was not the kind of injury Dean, who had been locked in the bathroom with Sam, could deal with. But right now he was tied to the wall in here beside Bobby, and there was nothing he could do for Sam until he had worked out a way to deal with the Commander.

Niki, meanwhile, was the only one not bound. John had considered that she had in fact betrayed them, but it was clearly not the case. She stood before the Commander, incongruously nightmarish in the middle of the mess of the motel room, head high and fists clenched at her sides, guarded by two young Guard members who stood at her sides. John had been in enough situations like this to realise that the girl was no betrayer, but that their captor had some use for her. And it would not be pretty. She was an innocent, and he had made it his life's work to protect the innocent-but what could he do? And he did not have to hesitate in saying that his priorities went with saving Sam right now. That just wasn't to say that he was not terrified for the girl, just as Bobby was.

"You chose to betray me, Niki Freelands," the Commander intoned quietly. "And you will suffer the consequences."

"You," she returned defiantly, "Can _go to hell_." He laughed, oddly, and drew closer. John saw her slender body shrink instinctively away, though she refused to back down voluntarily. He admired her courage. This presence was indeed a nightmare. The Commander placed both hands on her shoulders and she shook away, fury blazing in her dark eyes. He only grabbed her again.

"Where do you think your friend Bates learned his skills?" he asked John, the concealed face rising briefly to face the older hunter, and then lowering again to Niki. And John realised in that instant what he was about to do to her, what he must have done to all the rest of the Guard to make them behave as they had, how he controlled it all. What they had done to him and so hurt Sam.

He made no sound as he saw her fall to her knees, heard her wild, tearing scream. But he felt it, deep down inside.

...

"So, Sammy, you and Niki huh?" Dean asked with false cheerfulness. He was sitting against the wall now, Sam leaning against his chest seated between his legs, in a futile effort to stave off the effects of shock with his own body heat. He had roughly bound up the gaping wound in the seventeen-year-old's stomach, but they both knew it would not be enough. Now he was just trying to keep Sam awake, and it was an uphill battle against the exhaustion and shock and blood loss, not to mention the crushing pain the boy must have been in. Sam did not reply to his question but Dean was sure he saw the pale cheeks redden slightly.

"Well, she's hot," he said fairly. "You could do a lot worse, kiddo. In fact knowing you you probably already have..."

"Shut up, jerk," Sam mumbled. Dean grinned.

"Bitch. So you're admitting it?"

No reply.

"I'm trying to decide if you'd be more ashamed to say yes or no," Dean told him. "Probably no. My innocent virgin brother..."

Sam muttered something Dean was fairly sure he would never have said in front of their father.

"It's okay to like her, y'know," he said. "I promise I won't stalk you on your first date, and I won't make perverted jokes when she's in the room...and you can borrow my-"

"Go to hell," Sam told him. Dean decided that this topic was exhausted, judging from the lines of pain cutting into Sam's face. He changed the subject.

"So, the _Commander_. Why d'you think he wears that mask, huh? I'm thinking he got knifed by a girl some time and is too ashamed to show the scars..."

"Why?" Sam whispered. "Why'd she knife him?"

"Wouldn't you, if you were a chick? Someone like him just acts scary to hide that he's really impotent..." He frowned, looking down. Sam's head was leaned limply against his shoulder, streaked with sweat, eyes closed. "Hey. You with me? You realise I'm guessing, right?"

"Yeah..." The word was barely audible. Dean was beginning to panic. Sam was fading fast and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. He fought to conceal his fear.

"So what's your theory, genius?"

"It's a magic cloak," Sam mumbled absently. "Symbols...protection...she tried to take it off and he killed her..." Dean raised his eyebrows, though Sam could not see it, realising that his brother was slipping into delirium. He could feel the intense heat radiating off his thin body and it terrified him.

"Who killed who, sorry?"

Sam was remembering his dreams. Seeing the man making the cloak, burning it...putting it on and becoming the Commander he knew. He had not thought about them before, they had just been nightmares, unrelated to the horror of his situation. "She was called Moira," he croaked. "He killed her. He...he was scared...he loved her..."

"Sammy? You still with me here?"

Sam was leafing through his memories, suddenly certain that he had to know this, that the reason for the hood and concealed face was somehow vitally important. The man digging, kissing the red-eyed woman. The twisting face in the mirror. The death of the woman he loved. What was his name...Christopher. Yes, that was it. But how-how could he make sense of it all?

"It's a deal," he said hoarsely. "Kissing her. He made a deal. She's a _demon_, Dean-"

"Who? Who's a demon? What are you..."

"And they came for him, ten years later. They came to collect him...he made it...he made the cloak...to hide..."

"Sammy?"

At that moment the door banged open to reveal two members of the Guard standing there, their faces cold and expressionless. Dean stood up, easing Sam to the side, shielding him.

"What d'you want?" he demanded aggressively. Sam, gripping the side of the sink, was struggling to stand up.

"You will come with us," one of them, a girl a few years younger than Dean, commanded.

"He can't go anywhere or he'll bleed out!" Dean snapped, gesturing at Sam. The girl did not react.

"Come or we will kill your father."

"Ah, come on," Dean muttered. "You know I can't resist when chicks get all masterful on me..." He gripped Sam under the arms and dragged him upright, supporting him when he stumbled, unable to stand unaided and almost stunned by the agony searing through him, hoping against hope that it was not too late. But they had no choice, once again. He half-carried his little brother through to the other room, Sam struggling to keep his feet under him as they went, Dean not looking at either his father or Bobby as they entered, eyes fixed on the Commander standing tall in the centre of the motel room. His pyjamas were still lying there on the bed, he noticed-it was almost a ghoulishly incongruous recognition. Then Sam jerked in his grasp and gave a hoarse cry.

"Niki!"

The girl was on her knees, head bowed, hair hanging down and concealing her face, on the carpet before the Commander. Sam tore himself away from Dean and flung himself down beside her, reaching to grasp her shoulders. "Niki-hey, Niki, you okay?"

Dean, suddenly overcome with a nameless fear, stepped forward. Dread seemed to hang in the air like smoke-he only realised now that both Bobby and his father were gagged with duct tape, unable to make any sound, but that their eyes were crazed with alarm on seeing what Sam was doing. He took another step, and in that instant the boy standing behind him had reached up and pulled a noose about his neck. He froze as it was pulled tight-now, if he made another move, he would be strangled to death.

Sam, kneeling by Niki, saw none of this. He was peering into her white, closed face, calling her name, when suddenly she opened her eyes and he jumped. They were so dead, so cold-flickering dark, pupil-less.

"Niki?"

She looked at him blankly, expressionlessly. Then she rose to her feet and drew her sword. And as Dean screamed behind him she brought it whistling down towards his throat as he knelt there, horrified at what had become of her, in a final and definite death blow.

**Please review, I hope you liked it!**


	17. Chapter 17

**This is the song lyrics this chapter seemed to fit: **

'**On the ground I lay**

**Motionless in pain**

**I can see my life flashing before my eyes**

**Did I fall asleep?**

**Is this all a dream?**

**Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare...**

**I will not die, I'll wait here for you **

**I feel alive when you're beside me **

**I will not die, I'll wait here for you **

**In my time of dying'**

**-Time Of Dying, Three Days Grace**

Chapter 17: Time of Dying

Sam had no time to resist, to dodge away, even to scream. He could only kneel there, paralysed by sheer horror, while the blade of the girl he loved came swinging down upon him. He did not close his eyes-he only stared up at her. He heard Dean yelling his name but it was as if the sound came from a great distance, far beyond his sphere of comprehension or interest. Her stricken eyes were wide and blank and terrifying-and he was going to die.

The sword halted in mid-air, millimeters from his throat. He was staring directly into those blasted eyes and her hands clasping the sword's hilt were trembling. Her mouth worked, she squeezed her eyes shut. Sam dared not move. Now, he knew, was his chance to save himself, but if he ran now Niki might never come back to herself. This could be her last hope.

"Niki," he said quietly, earnestly. "Niki, it's me, Sam. Remember? You know who I am. You're my best friend. You're more. I'm going to save you, you remember? It's _me_. Please, Niki. Please remember who you are. You need to break free of him..."

"What are you playing at, girl?" came the Commander's annoyed tones from behind. "Finish him, you hear me? _Finish him_!" Sam heard the footsteps approaching and his strength was draining out of his body faster than thought-there was not much time. He was beginning to panic but forced himself to keep staring into Niki's lost eyes.

"Please, Niki," he whispered. "Please. You're _you_ and you have to fight him. You have to get him out of your head!"

Her hands were trembling so violently she could no longer hold the sword. Sam heard it clatter to the ground beside him but did not look-his gaze was fused to Niki's. She raised her hands to her face, shielding her eyes, then tightened her fingers until they dug into the skin of her face, leaving deep red grooves. Sam was about to speak again when she raised her head again and opened her eyes, and they gleamed deep dark blue as they had before, filled with fire and anger.

She turned and faced the Commander. "No," she said simply. "You won't control me."

He was only meters away and Sam sensed the anger radiating off him more than he saw it. He struggled to his feet, knowing only that she could not face this nightmare alone, knowing that he had to defend her, somehow-_too late_. The scythe came whipping out of the dark robes and he lunged to block her but he was too late, hampered by the pain and weakness of his injuries, and it struck deep into her chest and she gave a little sobbing gasp and went down, slowly, crumpling backwards to land, hopelessly, curled on the floor as the blood flooded out of her. Sam heard a voice scream her name with such agony it broke his heart to hear-he did not realise that the voice was his own. "No-no-" he gasped, stumbled across to her, gripped her hand. "Niki," he cried urgently, fighting not to break, terrified by the light fading out of her beautiful eyes. "Niki, no, please, stay with me-"

"Kill him," Niki whispered simply. "Stop him." Blood bubbled in her mouth, her face was dead white, but her eyes still gleamed with spirit. "I'll wait for you."

Sam nodded, desperately, fighting the pain of his injuries and of his breaking heart. If it was her dying wish then he would do it, that was all. No matter what.

He stood up to face the Commander. He did not know how to kill this monster, had no weapons and no time. Dean, his father and Bobby were incapacitated around the room-Niki lay bleeding to death on the floor. He was the only one left and the Commander was watching him to see what he would do. To him, this was a challenge. To Sam, it was the only thing left that mattered. He felt dizzy and light-headed, could feel the gushing blood staining his torn shirt, Dean's bandages having little or no effect. He had minutes left to live himself.

Memories flashed before his eyes. Dean. Words from other lives, from dreams. "I can never take it off'. A man running from his destiny, hell coming to claim his soul. A magic cloak to match magic powers. 'Why d'you think he never takes it off?' 'Stop him. I'll wait for you.'

Sam raised his head. He could taste blood in his mouth. "I know your name," he said softly. The Commander's hooded head cocked towards him, listening, on edge. "You're Christopher," Sam told him, his voice growing gradually stronger. "And her name was Moira."

The Commander moved blindingly fast, pinning Sam up against the wall, one arm coming up against his throat, restricting his breathing. "Who told you that?" he snarled into the youth's face. "What do you know of Moira?"

"You killed her," Sam whispered. "Because she wanted you to show your face. But you can't, can you? Because if you show your face they'll find you. Hell will find you. What did you do, exchange your soul for magical powers? I've felt those powers myself. But your time ran out and you needed a way to hide from the demons."

"You know nothing," the Commander hissed. "You are nothing but a stupid lying child and you are an abomination as well!"

"Is that why you created the Guard?" Sam went on recklessly, his voice catching on each laboured breath, blood tricking from the corner of his mouth. "So that one day they could protect you from hell when you could no longer bear to hide behind your hood? The Darkling Guard, just your own private army to protect you from the hellhounds when the time came. But I dreamed what you never wanted me to see." And he reached up with his last reserves of strength and he tore the hood aside, baring the Commander's face to the entire room-the face of an old man, surely over a hundred, wrinkled and decaying, white as ash having felt no touch of light for so many decades, hairless and mangled by age, the eyes like endless dark caverns of malice, skeletally thin. The man howled, twisting aside, fumbling to replace the cowl, but then his head jerked up to the sound of a far-off baying.

"No!" he breathed, and those nightmare eyes fell on Sam, and another scythe was in his hand, swinging down for the young hunter's neck, but at that moment he fell hard with a cry of agony, the scythe clattering to the side with a crash, and Sam, to his astonishment, saw the gaping wound opening all of its own accord in the Commander's stomach. He staggered aside, swaying, horrified, and he felt himself crumpling and leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor. The Commander's agonised face turned to him and a snarl of rage warped it once more-

"Your destiny will be worse than mine, Sam Winchester," he breathed. "My curse may be ended but yours is only just beginning." And his words degenerated into a howl of pain and blood spurted up, blinding Sam with warm, stinking liquid. And then there was nothing more than screaming and baying and the horrific sight, so terrifyingly close, of a man being literally torn to pieces by some invisible forces barely a metre away from where Sam slumped against the wall, unable even to muster the strength to move away.

The nightmare seemed to go on forever and Sam would never understand how he remained conscious throughout it all, especially when he wished so hard he could just pass out and escape the insanity and horror of this world, as the hellhounds ripped the Commander to pieces. But at last it was over and he was lying there covered in blood and the grisly remains of his enemy, and a grim silence had fallen on the entire room. He saw the Guard members in the room glance briefly at one another, fear reflected in their eyes, and then turn and run, loosed from the tethers of their brainwashing, disoriented and unwilling to remain in this nightmare room a second longer. Even their supernatural powers were nothing to hellhounds and there were four hunters in the room. Dean, freed of his captors, ran straight to Sam, crouching in front of him and pulling him close to his chest in a fumbled, panicked hug.

"You did it," he whispered. "I don't believe it, Sam, you beat him..."

To Sam, scarcely conscious, Dean's words only reminded him of Niki, and he struggled free of his brother's arms, crawling through his agony to where she lay curled on the floor, eyes closed and face whiter than the moon. "Niki," he croaked. "Niki?"

She opened her eyes, and a faint, weak smile curved her bloody lips. "You did it, Sam," she whispered. "You're...smart like that."

"You beat him too," he said fiercely. "You got him out of your head."

"I could never hurt you. I'm...so sorry..." Her voice broke. She was crying now, the crystal tears sliding down her white face and mixing with the blood. His heart seemed to falter within him.

"You don't have to be sorry," he returned angrily. "You're gonna be okay."

"I would've killed myself anyway," she whispered. "This...is the best...could've happened..."

"_No_, Niki. No, you can't die, you can't..."

"You have to survive, y'know?" she breathed. "You have a whole life to live. You're strong, Sam. You're the strongest person I ever knew. You have to live now."

"I'm going to save you," he insisted, not even noticing his own tears that fell onto her face. He was shaking, he was dying, but all he was aware of was that she was fading away before his eyes. "I promise..."

She shook her head faintly. "No," she said. "It's too late for me. I...I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm glad...I'm glad to have known you, Sam." And her eyes slipped closed and her body relaxed, and Sam heard himself making a kind of agonised sobbing cry, felt Dean's hands grasping his shoulders, pulling him back, the siren of an ambulance outside, but none of it registered. He was falling suddenly, the darkness claiming him at last, and he no longer fought because he no longer cared.

...

It was Dean who untied his father and Bobby from the wall, Dean who desperately gave his dying younger brother CPR as the paramedics swarmed in. They took one look at Niki and shook their heads-she was long gone, it was clear to them all. One of them took over Dean's working on Sam while they lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him into the ambulance. One put out a hand to try and stop Dean following but he shoved them away, climbing in after his little brother and refusing to budge, leaving his father to deal with the cops demanding an explanation for the carnage and the two shattered teenagers the Guard had left behind. It was Dean who, when they arrived at the hospital, watched as Sam was taken away for emergency surgery, and Dean who sat alone, waiting, head in hands, as Bobby and John filed in, as doctors came and went, as no news was forthcoming about Sam.

And when the doctor came out to tell them that while Sam was now out of surgery they still could not guarantee his survival and that they should prepare themselves for the worst, and that in any case they would not be able to see him until a few details had been cleared up, such as that of the bullet hole in his arm, it was Dean who punched him in the face.

I thought the song Time of Dying fitted after I'd written the chapter so I sort of randomly put it in there. Anyways...


	18. Chapter 18

**As always, I have no medical knowledge so I apologise for any mistakes there.**

Chapter 18:

The doctor was not badly hurt-John had lunged for Dean at the last moment, knocking him off balance and significantly lessening the force behind the blow. But it was the thought that counted. The doctor's face did not even change, however-he wiped away the thin trickle of blood from his nose while John and Bobby physically restrained Dean, and when he looked up his face was full of empathy.

"I should technically not be doing this," he said quietly. "But come this way. It will have to be a very short visit." He paused. "My name is Dr Ashford, by the way. I am the one who operated on your son."

Sam lay very, very still, lost under a haze of sedation, barely even breathing. His chestnut hair straggled across his ash-grey face and he looked so small, so vulnerable beneath the blue hospital blanket it made Dean feel off-balance, as if he was going to fall. Standing up the kid was taller than he was, somehow, annoyingly, though he had not yet grown into his height and was still skinny and clumsy. But now he looked like a little child, ten years or more younger than he really was, and fearfully breakable.

"Your son had been...very ill-used," the doctor was saying quietly. "There were a lot of hairline breaks to many bones, as if he had been in a lot of fights very recently. Then the bullet wound, which I take it you knew had become infected. I don't know what it was caused the cut in the back of his left shoulder but it too was inflamed and he must have lost a lot of blood through it. I also found traces of a strange drug in his system, which is clearly contributing a great deal to his fever."

"No other side effects of it?' Dean asked quickly, remembering what Niki had said.

"Apparently not, but it has aggravated an already very serious situation in many respects. Quite honestly, Mr Winchester, your son must have been in a dangerously fragile state even before your motel room was broken into. That's what happened, isn't it? I don't believe they yet caught those responsible for it. Most people would not be able to deal with those injuries already listed, you must understand. And the cut in his stomach was quite honestly just too much. Sam was already very weak, already feverish, and his left lung was punctured by the blade. He lost a lot of blood and we had to give him four full units to replace it. We were also forced to restart his heart twice in surgery."

"But he's gonna be okay now?" Dean said, never taking his eyes off his brother's motionless figure in the bed. Tubes were attached to his nose, his hand, his wrist, and an oxygen mask covered the entire lower half of his face. He was like a figure from a horror movie, as if instead of keeping him alive the wires were sucking the life out of him.

"I don't know," the doctor said quietly. "He is clearly a fighter to have come this far..." He gestured almost helplessly towards the bed. "But his injuries were extremely serious and we have done all we can. It is up to Sam now."

Dean was not aware of walking towards the bed, he only knew that suddenly was there sitting beside it, leaning over, one hand stroking through his little brother's unruly hair, stunned. Too many times in the last few days had he been certain that he was going to lose Sam forever, too many times...he no longer knew what to believe, what to trust. Whether his world would collapse in on itself or not.

"Can you hear me, Sammy?" he whispered. "Sammy? 'Cause I'm right here and you need to listen. You need to keep on fighting, kiddo. You need to keep fighting for me. Okay?"

"When will be wake up?" John was asking behind him.

"The drugs should wear off very soon," the doctor replied. "But we may need to put him under again for the pain after that."

"We're all here for you, Sammy," Dean said earnestly. "No matter what we're going to be here for you. You need to believe that and come back to us, okay?"

Sam's head turned slightly under his hand-Dean leaned forwards, sensing a miracle, and cupped his brother's cheek in his hand in comfort. "Hey, that's it. You can do it, Sammy, open your eyes now."

"Dean?" came the broken whisper, obstructed by the breathing mask. Sam's eyes cracked open and his entire body heaved against it, struggling weakly, desperately, twisting his head away in panic. Dean grabbed his shoulders, trying to still him as the doctor came lunging forwards.

"Sam, you need to relax. You need it to help you breathe, you understand? Just relax and let it do its work."

"You hear that, Sammy? Take it easy now. Just relax..." He had been holding Sam down on the bed; now he loosened his hold and allowed his little brother to relax. Sam's chest hitched and he trembled with the effort of accepting the alien presence in his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut, then opened again and he drew in a long breath. Dean's hand brushed his forehead and he stilled, staring up.

"Dean," he whispered again. "You...okay?"

Dean could have laughed. "Hell yeah Sammy, but you had me worried there..."

"Can you...take this...'way…" He gestured weakly to the breathing mask with his good hand. "Hurts..."

"It'll hurt a helluva lot more without it," Dean told him. "I'm sorry. How bad is it?"

Sam shook his head slightly and Dean saw a tear slide down one cheek. "Not...not so bad..." His hand went to his stomach and he flinched in pain as he touched it. Dean took his hand and pulled it away.

"Hey, easy there. You...you nearly died, Sammy. It's a miracle..."

Sam was blinking up at him, dazed and exhausted, his face lined with pain and streaked with sweat. "Miracle?" he croaked through the mask, and suddenly doubled over, curling around the wound in his stomach, shaking with dry sobs of pain. Dean tried to push him back down but he was so afraid of hurting him further he dared not-it was the doctor who injected the full syringe of painkiller into one of the tubes feeding into Sam's hand, and in moments Sam's tense, shaking body had relaxed, sinking back on the bed, eyes sliding shut.

"You'll be okay, Sammy," Dean promised, watching him fade back into unconsciousness. "You will, you understand?"

Sam looked up with his last reserves of strength, and there was a kind of desperate prayer in those wide hazel eyes. "Niki?" he asked faintly. Dean felt the question like a blow to the heart. He made no reply, only stared in paralysed indecision, but his silence was enough. He saw just one more tear slip down his brother's ashen cheek just as he was overcome by the drugs once more, and abandoned to a world of drug-enhanced nightmares and grief, where none of them could reach him.

...

Sam often talked in his sleep; Dean and John, sitting holding vigil at his beside that long night were both used to it, as they were used to his nightmares. They took little notice of his words tonight, rightly expecting them to be his reliving of the trauma he had undergone in the past few days. It was the word _human_ that made John sit up-

"Niki," Sam was whispering. "Niki, I don't care. I don't care…f'you're…human. Believe…save you-"

John's eyes flashed to Dean-his oldest son looked equally shocked. Dean reached out and touched Sam's forehead-the searing heat had not abated. "He's delirious," he challenged his father. John shook his head.

"That girl," he muttered. "Niki Freelands, right?" He glanced back at his son. "Sam," he asked urgently. "Are you saying Niki was one of them? Not human?" But Sam was beyond comprehension, lost in his own world, his words barely coherent. John leaned back, thinking hard, Dean watching him cautiously.

"I may have to look into that girl's past," he said quietly. " I need to know what Sam's hiding from us." And even Dean had no reply to that.

….

Bobby was outside, talking to the cops, the next time Sam awoke, Dean and John seated beside his bed, Dean dozing. His eyes flicked open, dazed and tired, flashing about the room with momentary panic, before they settled on his father. John looked up, started a little, cleared his throat.

"How're you doing, son?" he asked quietly.

"Okay," Sam replied, his voice muffled by the mask and slurred by the drugs.

John looked into his face and he felt a great pain of confusion rise up inside him-this was his _son_, his too-innocent, too kind, rebellious, brave, clever son, just a seventeen-year-old kid for whom he would never have wanted this life. And yet there was something inside him that John hated and feared and could never understand-demon blood. His son had demon blood inside of him, and how it was possible John did not know. Nor did he know what they were going to do about it. His face changed as he looked at Sam, and that was all it took. Sam blinked and hurt flooded his already so-distraught hazel gaze.

"I'm sorry," Sam croaked through the mask. "I tried to-"

John was pressing ahead, knowing that he should not, that this could only end badly, but desperate, angry, terrified. "Sam, I need to know something," he said swiftly. "Your friend, Niki-"

Sam's eyes clenched briefly shut. The memory clearly hurt, but John could not afford to make any concessions right now.

"Niki," he went on. "Was she one of them? Was she…a monster?"

Sam's hazel eyes suddenly flashed. "No," he breathed. It was difficult for his voice to show anger, covered with the oxygen mask as it was, but somehow he managed it. "No, Dad, she was no monster, just like the rest of those kids weren't. She was a person and she was good and brave and kind and true and I don't expect you to be able to understand that just because someone in her life was cruel to her, but it's the Goddamn truth-" He broke off, suddenly, with a short cry of pain, twisting over in the bed to curl around the wound in his stomach once more. John was on his feet and pressing the call button for a nurse immediately and Dean shot up in his chair, disorientated and afraid.

"Dad? Sam?" His gaze fell on his convulsing brother below him and he dropped down on the side of the bed, pressing Sam down flat onto the pillows once more. Sam gave a hoarse scream and Dean somehow bent down and gathered him into his arms, careful of his injuries, holding him cradled against his chest, hand stroking through his brother's overlong, unruly hair. "It's okay, Sammy," he murmured softly. "It's okay, it's over now, just relax, okay? Relax, I'm here with you…" Slowly Sam's trembling stopped and his tense muscles relaxed so that he slumped against his brother, breathing hard, eyes closed. Dean continued to hold him, ignoring the nurse who had just come rushing in behind them, whispering his name softly and carding his hair until he felt him slipping away into sleep once more of his own accord. Then at last he looked up at his father and his green eyes blazed with anger.

"What the hell did you say to him?" he breathed. John only turned away, too conflicted in his own mind to be able to face any questioning. Dean eased Sam gently back into the bed-the teenager stirred, murmuring something, his face unhappy even in sleep, and turned his head to lay it against his older brother. Dean settled down, resolving not to leave him-how could he now, when it seemed that he was all Sam had left to trust in this world?

….

Dr Ashford turned away from the unconscious Sam's bedside with a frown on his face as he faced the boy's anxious family. "How is he?" the brother asked him fiercely, the brother who had punched him when he had suggested delaying visiting Sam right at the beginning. It was odd, but it had been that act that had caused Dr Ashford to relent and bend the rules just enough to allow them a few minutes with the injured teenager. An act of such impulsive, desperate rage-in it he had seen, perhaps perversely, a love and protection unlike any he had known before. Such thoughts as these only made the task he must now carry out all the more repulsive.

"Sam is not doing well," he said quietly. "His vitals have weakened quite seriously and his fever is getting worse…" He shrugged. "I can see no real explanation for so sudden a regression except that…it seems to me as if Sam does not really _want_ to recover."

Dean stared, amazed and furious. "What are you saying?"

Ashford only wished he could have been the bearer of better news. "I heard that he was not the only one injured in the break-in, that a girl died. Perhaps her death has affected him worse than we thought. Aside from that I have no idea, but Sam just seems to be fading. You're his family-you need to get through to him or he could just slip away. You need to understand that this is no joke-if you cannot give him the will to live then there will be nothing anyone can do to save him."

**Please leave me a review and I hope you enjoyed it!**


	19. Chapter 19

This is the second last chapter, just so you know…thanks for your reviews!

Chapter 19:

Dean did not understand how someone could be 'given the will to live', not after they had been through what Sam had. It seemed like something out of a chick-flick, a soppy gloopy sentimental kid's story. In Dean's world, you dealt with injuries and then you got better, because Dean couldn't handle losing you. You survived and then you went on. There was none of this stupid giving up or wanting to die.

But it was certainly clear that it really was what was happening to Sam. Niki's death would surely be horrific to deal with, but could that really be all this was? He and his father had known and loved Mary Winchester before she had died, but they had never _given up_ on life because of it. People died a lot, and if you were a hunter you just had to bounce back and keep trying, that was all. Sam was strong, whatever his failings. He would not give up solely because of losing Niki, not when he had his family and his life as well. It would have been different had he been all alone in the world. But he was not.

Unless perhaps he thought he was. Dean's eyes flashed to his father, standing staring deep in thought out of the window. "Dad," he heard himself saying quietly. "What did you say to him when he woke up?"

John turned, his face shadowed with guilt and confusion. "Nothing," he replied. "Nothing, Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean spat. "So you tell me why he doesn't want to wake up."

"It's probably Niki, like the doctor said."

Dean fought to contain his rage. "Oh, I don't think so. You didn't break when Mom died. Nearly, but not like this. Something's broken Sammy, and you know what, Dad? When I woke up you were the one who'd made him scream." He took a breath, amazed and enraged that his father had still said nothing. "Did you ask him about Niki being human?" he demanded. "Did you?"

John turned without a backwards glance and strode out of the room. Bobby drew close to the bed, staring intently down at Sam.

"He's guilty, the eejit," he muttered. "You know that, Dean. You know what he can be like about Sam and we never found out exactly what was going on there. He'll come round."

"Will he come round in time?" Dean demanded bitterly. "Or will he wait till Sammy's already-"

"Dean?" came the soft voice from the bed. Dean's eyes flashed downwards, seeing Sam awake, and he dropped into a crouch beside him. "Hey, Sammy, how're you doing?" he asked swiftly. It was a stupid question-the despair in his little brother's eyes was black and palpable.

"Where's…where's Dad?" Sam asked, voice barely audible. Dean felt a searing rage burn through him at his words-where _was_ their father, indeed, when Sam's survival could rest on him? _Sulking_… Bobby touched Sam's other hand to let the boy know he was there. "You're daddy's just gone out to take care of some paperwork, boy," he told him. "He'll be back soon enough…"

"Tell him…" Sam's voice hitched and he tried again, his eyes sliding shut already. "Tell him…m'sorry…but I would never…leave her, my fault…my fault she…died…can't be Dean…"

"He doesn't want you to be Dean, ya eejit," Bobby told him earnestly. "Just yourself, Sam." Sam fought the pull of the drugs for once final moment.

"No," he whispered sadly. "Never wanted me…" And then he was unconscious again, and slipping away before Dean's eyes. He knuckled his forehead, scowling.

"Sh*t," he muttered. "Dad's really screwed him up this time."

…..

John was beyond anyone's reach and was not picking up his phone. Dr Ashford had examined Sam twice more in the hours since he had gone, and his diagnoses were not encouraging. Sam was falling away and nothing Dean or Bobby tried seemed to be having any effect. He lay there, face concealed behind the mask, motionless but for when he screamed and thrashed in the grip of his nightmares-in those cases Dean was the only one who could calm him, holding him close and whispering his name. Sam's fever had not broken and he existed in a state of delirium and dream, beyond reality, occasionally waking briefly, confused and tired. He called for his father, for Niki-once he shouted out for his mother. Mostly it was Dean's name he spoke, but he was rarely aware when his older brother actually came and sat right beside him.

Night fell and Dean and Bobby did not move from their places beside his bed. Both were silent and Dean saw the hitch in his little brother's breathing even before it happened, before the machine beside the bed began bleeping madly, before Sam's body became suddenly, horribly still-he flung himself over his brother, feeling desperately for a pulse, a heartbeat-nothing-Sam was gone. He was weeping, screaming, pumping on the kid's chest desperately, yelling his brother's name in rage and in grief. Dr Ashford came running, shot a look at Bobby, who interpreted it correctly despite his own anguish and dragged Dean back, allowing the doctor and two nurses to move in, attaching the defibrillator to Sam's chest and activating it.

Dean watched, horrified, desperate. Bobby was holding him bodily back, and he stared through a veil of tears, as Sam's slight, broken body jerked on the bed, lifelessly-again, again. Dr Ashford raised his head and Dean saw him look down at his watch, saw the words form on his lips-"_time of death_-" And he tore free of Bobby's chokehold, screaming.

"_No_! Do it again! Once more!" The doctor shot him a sceptical look. "Dean-"

"_Please_!" Dean yelled into his face. "For _God's_ sake just try _once more_!"

Dr Ashford hesitated, then turned back to the bed, nodded to the nurses. Again the defibrillator beeped, and Dean saw the red light flash on. Sam's body jerked again, shuddered, and then he was coughing, shuddering, sucking in desperate gulps of air, and his heart monitor was going crazy, _alive_. Dean felt such a wave of relief that he swayed and then Bobby was holding him up, telling him to take it easy, and Dr Ashford looked back at him just once.

"Thank you," the doctor said softly. "You were right." He crouched down beside the bed, stilling Sam as he choked for breath, rubbing his shoulders to ease his breathing, calming him and easing him back down on the pillows, where Sam slumped back, breathing hard, eyes closed tight, the sweat-matted hair strewn across his white face, drained but definitely alive. The doctor then inspected the stitched wound in his stomach, and nodded thoughtfully.

"He doesn't seem to have broken any of the stitches," he told Dean and Bobby. "He was lucky this time, I think, but I'll keep an eye on him. His fever is no better." He shook his head. "Where is his father?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know that," Bobby muttered darkly as Dean approached his brother. Sam had drifted away into sleep, unaware of his proximity, but Bobby could see him instinctively turn his face towards Dean, shrinking into the security of his older brother. Those two boys trusted and loved each other so intensely it was startling-they needed each other, soul to soul, despite how much it would take to get either of them, particularly Dean, to admit it.

…

John Winchester sat with his head in his hands in the shadows under a large oak tree in a park somewhere in the town-he was not actually that sure where he was. He was trying hard not to think-he just did not know what to do. Did not know how to treat Sam, how to deal with knowing what lay within him…did not know whether he feared it more than he loved his son.

He was never sure afterwards, if he was asleep or not when she came to him. He opened his eyes and there she was, standing there before him in the bloodstained nightdress she had worn when she died, her golden hair blowing faintly in a wind he could not feel. He looked up, stared, not surprised. Somehow it seemed completely natural that she should be here now.

"Mary," he whispered. "Mary, I've missed you so much…"

"And I've missed you," she said quietly. "There is so much I never told you, John. So much you need to know, but there is no time now. Your son is dying and if you cannot show him that you care then he will fade away."

"How do I even know he is mine?" John said hoarsely. "What happened, Mary, that night?"

She stepped closer, her feet making no sound on the gravel path, and her hand came out to brush across his cheek. He closed his eyes-one tear slipped over her fingers.

"Sam is your son and mine," Mary said quietly. "He has so much of both of us in him-he is truly ours. I made a terrible mistake, many years ago, John, and maybe our family will never stop feeling its consequences. Sam suffered for it and he will go on suffering, and you cannot imagine how much that hurts me. But he is who he is, John, and you should not fear what lies within him, not yet."

"So it's true," John said quietly. "He does have demon blood in him."

"It's true," Mary replied, her expression desolate. "But you know who he is. He is good and brave and kind and true, and whether or not you see eye to eye with him all the time you love him and you always will. There will come a time when things grow darker, but for now can't you love him for me? Can't you save him for me? Trust me, and trust him. He is who he always was and he is our son, whatever cruelty he has suffered, whatever was done to him seventeen years ago. Please, John."

"Mary…" His voice was a sigh on the wind. "Mary, I am so sorry…"

"So am I," she whispered. "So am I."

He opened his eyes-he was alone in the darkness, still seated hunched on the park bench. She was gone, long gone. Seventeen years gone. He rubbed his hands over his stubbled face, trying to focus. Dream or not, somehow she had been with him, briefly. He stood up and he began to walk towards the road-halfway there he broke into a run.

…

John Winchester came bursting into the ICU ward to find Dean and Bobby talking quietly over Sam's bed-both looked up when they saw him and Dean got to his feet. John pushed him aside, shoving close to peer down at his youngest son, so still and small in sleep. "How is he?" he demanded urgently. Dean, behind him, folded his arms.

"He nearly died when you were gone," he said flatly. "You happy now?"

"_God_…" John bent closer, reaching to brush his hand gently across Sam's temple, suddenly filled with a wild fear and anger at himself-he had come so close to losing his son, and he had not even known it. Sam's eyes flickered slowly open, responding to his father's touch, and when he registered who stood over him they flared in surprise.

"Dad?" he breathed. "Dad, where…where were you?"

John sat down on the edge of the bed, easing an arm under his son's back and raising him carefully against his chest, supporting him, brushing a stray strand of chestnut hair out of his eyes. "I'm here now, Sammy," he said intently. "I'm here now, and I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry for everything…"

"M'sorry, too," Sam mumbled, but John shook his head. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sam. This was all my fault and I hurt you badly, and I just hope you can forgive me some time soon."

Sam stared at him, amazed. Dean and Bobby were both silent, holding their breaths. "Dad," Sam whispered. "I don't have to forgive you. You just have to-" He stopped.

"To care? To listen?" John prompted. "I _do_ care, Sammy, and I'll try to listen. Okay?"

"'Kay," Sam agreed, the first smile his father had seen in days spreading across his wan features, but John was not finished yet.

"And believe me, Sam. I am so sorry about what happened to Niki. You know I would have saved her if I could…but you need to believe that it's not your fault. It was her fight against the Commander just as much as yours, and she knew what she was risking just like you did. It _wasn't your fault_."

"But I could've protected her better," Sam protested, tears welling in his eyes. "He stabbed her when-"

"When she wouldn't kill you. D'you think she'd have been able to live with herself if she had? No, Sam. She made her own choices and you should never feel guilty for that." And John had somehow opened his arms and Sam was nuzzling into them, the tears overflowing down his face, unable to remember the last time his father had hugged him like this, anchoring him against his grief. The last time he had felt like he cared about him.

"Anyway," Dean said, clearing his throat after a few moments. "Looks like you're on the road to recovery, huh, Sammy? So can I try something?"

Sam looked a little wary, pulling away from his father, sniffling a little. "Uh-what?"

Dean jammed his finger down on a button beside the bed and the whole contraption immediately tilted sharply upwards, prompting a cry of shock from Sam. Dean snickered and tried again-this time it dropped back heavily and Sam yelled for him to stop. Dean's smile vanished, thinking he might have hurt him, but when he looked Sam was laughing, a little weakly, sure and with one arm pressed against his stomach, but laughing all the same.

**I hope you liked this chapter…I know it might have been a little quick and everything but I'm really not good at drawing out the recovery for loads of chapters, sorry about that! **

**Also John-well as you can see he came round in this chapter. I know a lot of people don't really like how I've been writing him, but I honestly see him this way, as very hard and driven, and yes he is cruel to Sam, he just loves him underneath and doesn't really know how to show it, for various reasons. He's not a bad guy, but I see him making a lot of mistakes when it comes to someone like Sam, is all. How I've written him is as close to how I actually see him in the series as I can get it. I'm just getting that out there…**

**Anyways, please review and I'll have the final chapter up in a couple of days!**


	20. Chapter 20 Final Chapter!

**Well here's the final chapter, and I want to thank all those who've stuck with this story, you've made it worth it!**

Chapter 20:

Two weeks of convalescence had passed, until Sam was going completely insane at being cooped up. Miraculously, his fever had quite suddenly abated after his father had returned, and after that they had kept him in the hospital for a few more days, and even he had not been able to contest the wisdom of this, since he had been in a great deal of pain and too weak to stand up unaided. No longer in danger, just healing slowly. Even when they had finally let him go Dean had had to help him dress and then half-carried him out to the Impala, where he had almost immediately fallen asleep.

They had driven out to Bobby's house, a journey of many hours, most of which Sam had spent asleep in the backseat. They had remained there for over a week-Dean had watched him like a mother, forbidding him to do almost anything except sit in the warmth and read books. But it had not been that simple-ever since arriving Sam had felt the darkness of depression crushing him down-every night he was tormented by intensely real nightmares of the Commander and the Guard, but most of all of Niki and her horrific death. He stopped eating, stopped doing anything, feeling useless and tainted. Dean noticed and tried to make him talk about it, but it was a hopeless venture, because Sam just refused to open up. At that moment he was struggling just to believe that there was anything worth living for, for one such as he who had hurt so many, who had caused the death of someone as brave and beautiful as Niki.

Dean found him now, sitting up in the darkness of the attic of the house, staring out of the window at the rain hammering down. He paused just inside the door, running a hand through his close-cropped hair-he knew that his brother was hurting, and he knew that it was only to be expected. He just did not know what he could do about it. The teenager's slight, untidy-haired figure hugging his knees silhouetted against the window seemed so far away, so hopeless.

"Hey, Sam," he said softly. Sam turned.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean crossed the room and dropped down beside him, looking out at the rain. "Crap weather, huh?" he commented, then reached to the side and held up the napkin containing a sandwich he had brought up from downstairs.

"I think this was what you didn't eat at lunchtime," he told Sam, who looked at it blankly.

"You can have it if you want, I'm not hungry."

"Of course not," Dean muttered. "Look, Sammy, you're barely eating anything and you need to get your strength back. If you get sick again now you'll be in really bad trouble."

"Dean, I'm just not hungry," Sam replied earnestly. "I'm okay."

"Sure you are," Dean said. "That's why you don't eat, you don't talk, and you scream in your sleep every night. You need to talk to me." He hesitated. "Sam, if this is about Niki-"

"It's _my fault_," Sam said quietly, firmly. "I promised her I was going to save her. I promised. And now…now she's gone-"

Dean did not ask why he had said that he would save her. The issue of Niki's humanity was one he and his father had tacitly decided to just steer clear of, with Sam's delicate state of mind. "It's not your fault at all," he said instead. "How could it be? Don't you remember what Dad said?"

Sam shrugged. "It's how I feel, Dean." He turned back to the rain and the grey sky that seemed a reflection of his soul right now. Fragmenting. Dean looked out with him, feeling hopeless, desolate. Sam seemed so unreachable, so deep-fallen into his despair.

"It's over now," he said almost desperately. "Soon you'll be able to go back to school, that's what you want, right?"

Sam did not move. "Go back to school, and then leave again, and again, and always be the new kid, and never be normal. What's the point?" He gave a sort of mirthless smile. "You know what my English teacher said before we left? She said I should apply to one of the Ivy League colleges this year. It's a frickin' joke, right?" He flicked a lock of hair out of his eyes. "I'm serious, what's the point?"

And Dean had nothing to say to that. The brothers sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the rain, each lost in private pain. Then at last Dean raised his head. "You know where we're going tomorrow?" he asked impulsively. Sam looked over at him with a faint frown.

"No, where?"

"We're going back to Maine," Dean answered. "Just to see what's left. I'm thinking you need to be doing something."

…

The compound was empty, desolate, when Sam and Dean stepped out into it the next evening, as if it had been for years, weeds sprouting between the stones, the buildings fallen into charred disrepair; Bobby and John were outside in Bobby's truck, having agreed to wait for them and let them go in alone. The place looked as if it had been ravaged by a fire-maybe when the other kids had left they'd tried to destroy it all, Sam thought. He stood there, feeling the weight of memories buffet him, the wind sifting through his overlong hair. This place where he had lost so much, where he had met and kissed Niki, where he had been tortured almost beyond repair.

Dean, watching him, wondered if he had done the right thing, bringing his brother here. Certainly Sam's depression seemed less heavy out of the house, and doing something, anything, was always a good idea, but this place was the legacy of so much pain and guilt. It could wound Sam worse than anything. His little brother seemed so vulnerable and slight in his overlarge hoodie, his hair ruffled in the wind, his battered body having faced so much more than anyone so young should ever have had to.

"They're all gone," Sam murmured. "All of them. Maybe they're out there killing people right now."

"The alternative was letting the Commander win," Dean pointed out. "And that's what we're hunters for, to stop things like that. We can go after them. You saved a lot more people than you hurt, Sammy."

"But it's still on me." He turned his face away but Dean still heard the whispered words that blew back in the cold wind: "_Niki, I'm so sorry_…" Inside his mind Sam was replaying everything-Niki standing there defending him from Richard Banner, her swordhand rock-steady. Niki's fierce eyes telling him she would stand by him. The way her dark hair had moved in the wind when she had turned her head. Her true, darkness-defying laughter. The tears on her face when she had related her grim destiny…

He realised that suddenly he was hunched over, crying hard, and that Dean's arms were around him, hugging him tightly, so that he felt his older brother's heartbeat against his own, smelled the leather of his jacket, while he wept uncontrollably there in the middle of the empty compound, and Dean was speaking, whispering: "Shh, Sammy, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here…" As if he were a child again, bewildered by the harshness of the world, when only Dean had been able to comfort him and make him feel like everything would be all right. He was older now, he knew that life was never that simple. But somehow deep down inside Dean could still make him feel that way, against all rationality.

Finally he pulled away, wiping his eyes awkwardly on his sleeve. "Sorry," he muttered and Dean gave a lopsided grin. "Just don't tell anyone."

Sam looked up, his hazel eyes wide and wet and intense. "Thanks, Dean," he whispered, and Dean shrugged a little stiffly, understanding. "Anytime," he returned.

At that moment there was a sound from behind and Dean's hand went to his gun-Sam whirled round, scraping the evidence of his crying from his face. His eyes popped wide open.

"Jake?"

Jake Talley's lean dark figure was walking towards him across the compound, a slightly uneasy smile of welcome spreading across his face. "Sam," he said in greeting, drawing close. "How are you?"

"I'm okay now," Sam replied, with half a glance at Dean. "But what are you doing here? I thought you'd gone home…"

"I did," Jake agreed. "But I had to come back, just to see…" He shrugged. "Well, I guess you had the same idea, huh?"

Sam nodded. "Jake, the Commander's dead."

Jake's face showed no surprise. "I figured he would be, when he didn't come after me." He hesitated. "That was one hell of a fight, Sam. If you beat him then…wow." Sam shrugged. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Jake gave a wry smile.

"I'm going to join the army," he said. "I guess once you start playing with weapons it doesn't leave you, huh?"

"You serious?" Sam said in surprise. "I mean…" Dangerous, stupid, even immoral, the words thudded through his mind. But who was he to put down Jake's dream, Jake's decision? This had surely not been a light choice, and his friend had already faced horrors enough to realise what he was getting himself into. "I mean, take care of yourself."

Jake nodded, unsmiling. "Yeah. You too, Sam." He turned to walk away, then briefly looked back. "Nice knowing you," he said. Sam smiled tightly, reading in the casual parting countless unspoken words of thanks and shared dangers commemorated.

"You too. Hopefully someday we'll meet again."

"Huh. If you ever fancy a trip to Afghanistan or somewhere…" And he turned and strode quickly out of the compound, soon disappearing into the surrounding trees as Sam watched. Dean cleared his throat.

"Uh, Sammy? Now you've had your little bonding moment with soldier boy, I think we better hit the road, huh?"

Sam turned and managed to summon a smile. "Okay, Dean," he agreed, and led the way out of the compound, getting into the passenger seat of the Impala without looking back at his erstwhile prison. Dean slid in beside him and jammed the keys in the ignition. "You okay now?" he asked intently. Sam returned his hard look and thought about it carefully.

"I will be," he said determinedly. Then he caught Dean's hand reaching for the box of cassette tapes on the floor and he blocked him with his own arm. "Unless you play your crappy music, in which case I will have a seizure right now, trust me on that."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You, faking a seizure? Now that I'd like to see." The Impala pulled away from the side of the road and began to roll off along the forest track, bumping and shuddering over the potholes behind the truck. Inside it, John looked back at the sleek black car and he smiled.

"Looks like we're all coming out of this in one piece," Bobby commented, reading his expression. John nodded. "It does…"

There was a darkness in his youngest son, something terrible that he would never understand. But he was here, and Dean was here, and if they couldn't save Sam from whatever it was then no-one could. They had time to fight it and Sam was stronger than he himself gave him credit for a lot of the time. He saw no reason to lose hope, not if even Mary was still believing from beyond the grave.

And if the worst came to the worst and Sam was beyond salvation when the time came…

_If I can't save him_, John realised with a thrill of horror, _I'm gonna have to kill him_. With the hunter's precision and ruthlessness he accepted the repellent thought, stored it away. In his life he knew that no course of action could be ruled out, and he could not tell what the future would bring. But for now Sam was all right, he was himself, and he was so far from what John had feared he could become that it did not bear thinking about. They had saved him this time, and surely they could do it again.

And there was always Dean, John reflected. Dean who would give his own life to save Sammy. There was always that to believe in-while Dean was alive, he knew, there would always be hope for Sam.

The End

**Well there it is, finished! Thank you so much all those who stuck with this story and reviewed it, it means so much and you're the reason I finished it, since it's the longest I've written and in places I did get very stuck with it. So thank you all!**

**I have a few other ideas for stories and I'll post something new in a little while, though I'm not yet sure what…hopefully before the end of the hiatus though! (And why would they do that again, just for the record-why? Anyway…)**

**Thanks again and take care!**

**Anna**


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